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letra de wichita sutra vortex - philip glass

i’m an old man now, and a lonesome man in kansas
but not afraid
to speak my lonesomeness in a car
because not only my lonesomeness
it’s ours, all over america
o tender fellows-
& spoken lonesomeness is prophecy
in the moon 100 years ago or in
the middle of kansas now
it’s not the vast plains mute our mouths
that fill at midnite with ecstatic language
when our trembling bodies hold each other
breast to breast on a mattress-
not the empty sky that hides
the feeling from our faces
nor our skirts and trousers that conceal
the bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin
white smooth abdomen down to the hair
between our legs
it’s not a god that bore us that forbid
our being, like a sunny rose
all red with naked joy
between our eyes & bellies, yes
all we do is for this frightened thing
we call love, want and lack-
fear that we aren’t the one whose body could be
beloved of all the brides of kansas city
kissed all over by every boy of wichita-
o but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me-
on the bridge over republican river
almost in tears to know
how to speak the right language-
on the frosty broad road
uphill between highway embankments
i search for the language
that is also yours-
almost all our language has been taxed by war
radio antennae high tension
wires ranging from junction city across the plains-
highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow
lanes curving past abilene
to denver filled with old
heroes of love-
to wichita where mcclure’s mind
burst into animal beauty
drunk, getting laid in a car
in a neon misted street
15 years ago-
to independence where the old man’s still alive
who loosed the bomb that’s slaved all human consciousness
and made the body universe a place of fear-
now, speeding along the empty plain
no giant demon machine
visible on the horizon
but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky’s edge
i claim my birthright!
reborn forever as long as man
in kansas or other universe-joy
reborn after the vast sadness of war gods!
a lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear
imaging the throng of selves
that make this nation one body of prophecy
languaged by declaration as pursuit of
happiness!
i call all powers of imagination
to my side in this auto to make prophecy
all lords
of human kingdoms to come
shambu bharti baba naked covered with ash
khaki baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs
dehorahava baba who moans oh how wounded, how wounded
sitaram onkar das thakur who commands
give up your desire
satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquillity
kali pada guha roy whose yoga drops before the void
shivananda who touches the breast and says om
srimata krishnaji of brindaban who says take for your guru
william blake the invisible father of english visions
sri ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes
half closed who only cries for his mother
chaitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise
merciful chango judging our bodies
durga-ma covered with blood
destroyer of battlefield illusions
million-faced tathagata gone past suffering
preserver harekrishna returning in the age of pain
sacred heart my christ acceptable
allah the comp-ssionate one
jaweh righteous one
all knowledge-princes of earth-man, all
ancient seraphim of heavenly desire, devas, yogis
& holymen i chant to-
come to my lone presence
into this vortex named kansas
i lift my voice aloud
make mantra of american language now
i here declare the end of the war!
ancient days’ illusion!-
and pr-nounce words beginning my own millennium
let the states tremble
let the nation weep
let congress legislate its own delight
let the president execute his own desire-
this act done by my own voice
nameless mystery-
published to my own senses
blissfully received by my own form
approved with pleasure by my sensations
manifestation of my very thought
accomplished in my own imagination
all realms within my consciousness fulfilled
60 miles from wichita
near el dorado
the golden one
in chill earthly mist
houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward
in every direction
one midwinter afternoon sunday called the day of the lord-
pure spring water gathered in one tower
where florence is
set on a hill
stop for tea & gas

. .

- philip glass

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