[Anselm Berrigan]


was born and raised in New York City, and lives there currently after spending time in San Francisco and Buffalo. He is the author of Zero Star Hotel and Integrity & Dramatic Life, both published by Edge Books, as well as a number of chapbooks. His poems have been translated into French, Roumanian, Slovenian, and Catalan. He is the Artistic Director of The Poetry Project at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery, and is a co-editor of The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan, which will published by the University of California in 2005.

va nàixer i passà la seua infantesa a la ciutat de Nova York, on viu en l'actualitat després de passar temporades a San Francisco i Buffalo. És autor de Zero Star Hotel i Integrity & Dramatic Life, totes dues publicades per Edge Books, així com d'un nombre de llibres populars. Els seus poemes han estat traduïts al francés, romanés, eslové i català. És Director Artístic de The Poetry Project a l'església de Sant Marc al Bowery, així com co-director de The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan, que seran publicats per la Universitat de California el 2005.



Trained Meat

[Carn ensinistrada]


Trained Meat 

                       I, invisible product,

            vow to strike it rich

                    via poetry in 2002

                                via pabst public colors

         & brutal encouragement

            to grant a name: 

                       cold face feels alert

                        ripped in the saddle

                                    constant war staff

                          cracked on wisdom

      of the spliced instant

              generates little poetry

to loiter in the crosswalk

    and explode, turn around

           yes, rotating bank shot

            in a café blown

                              out in the air

                                 a bird is always changing my

                          music in the ear

             thank you for the money

             thank you for the message

                                   from safe-pain relief.

                           numbers hate reunions

                                 fiscally  responsible despite

                        current climate of terror

                at home contained

                        explosions on the couch

       lamppost psycho birdy view

              go be who you think

                     they say you are

                           when you aren’t around

                      soft bulletin: made now

                 letter by letter. I don’t

                 FEEL hardcore. What shall

           I do to pass the heavy

                      time away? Clean self

                                            with cream sickle

                            get called slanky via


                               confess: we burned our

                                    figurines on the stove

                after outgrowing hell

                                        in the mind. Now

                                                               it’s in the books.

                                          The Armies of Doom

                                               an eco-cyst

                   on Saturday night

                              with cable executions

                                                           Chewbacca’s head

                                                                 shot better than a Vermeer

                                                                          he sees everyone

                                                                                       in the room

                                                                         from the real world

                                                                                     this one’s a shadow of

                                                      no money no interest

         go teach              pig in a box

                                      putting plastic

                                oh all around the nest

                        brokered commentary

                             stare at it size it up

                       cut into presentable pieces

                                                     gut the mind

                                              to hang the heart

                                   work at it in the Family tradition

                                             a community sorting mechanism

                           light powder and launch

           blue thought balloons

                  peel words from space

                            to find an arrangement

                                   unlike anything I’m told

                                         effectively communicates

                          aesthetics times propaganda

                                        equals personal journey

                   reserve talon files protest

                                following collision  and sharp

                                    sudden stomach pain screaming

                                                     at eleven. Now, Voyager

                                                                     a poly-vocal receiver

                               of language set forth

                    wielding an opinion

                                without license or credit.

                                               Orion hanging over

                     Williamsburg, blue black

                                     sky, twenty or thirty stars.

                                              incomprehesibly gruntled

                                     present dragged

                into happily unfamiliar

                               with the next thing

                                      this maniac breathing

                                               Solid Ground

      No Obligation.

            game summary

                  of day shows twelve hours

                       of drinking, no checking in

          with daily death operation

                                     Distinctive Competencies:

                                                   small pox blankets

                                                                hand me over

                                            you know oracles

                        therefore you know real

                                              competition, mudpie

                                                            value chains making

                                                                       intangible structures

                                                              music: strategic

                                         management and poetry

                                                               somebody’s tampered with

                                                     my internal operations

                                                                one of the shreds has been

                                                                             harping repeatedly

                                                a demand to sing through

                            rejections and business

              letters hung in slots

                         a series of indeterminacy

                                        crises -- it looks

                            tastes, smells, sounds, and

                                               theorizes like a rat

                                  armed with case discussion

                                               questions: do acquisitions

                                                      increase shareholder value?

                                       Vikings’ owner promises

                      green will be back, but the

                                    hot darkness approacheth.

                                                                  but fuck it, irreparable

                                                       circuit failure calls

                                           I write these poems

                                   to get through them

                                           not a dark utterance

                                                     in the least. All photos

                                                                                   simulated. All tones

                                            up mine. Whoa!

                                                      talking medal heads

                                        choking off support

                            missile defense success

                                         just below nipples

                                                  under blue stripe


                                                                                       thought gagged on the front

                                                                                 for its own good

                                                                                               dappling sunshine

                                                                               BIG BOOGER

                                                                                       gotta let it show

                                                                             you are obliged

                                                           to sustain a steady

                                                          display of outward emotion

                                           from the inside

                           as your heart ceases

                          to beat waste products

                    still build up in each

                cell. The drinking

                   of this beer, in this bar

                               is a biochemical marker

                                                  fuckin’ tweaked

                                             majors in decomposition

                                                      know the smell of death

                                                                          can hold keys

                                                                              to the comprehensive

                                                                                   study of the relational

                                                                        the beer and I are

                                                           insignificant in space

                                                but the dynamics

                                                      between us are long

                                                              term lenders of energy

                                                                     and significance. They

                                                                               are nature. The beer

                                                                                   is fluid. I am out of it.

                                                  shambolic path – I’ve found you!

                                                     dead people vote

                                                        dead people win elections

                                          their phone calls speak

                                     out of tvs to my bills

                           demanding action, good god

                                            though I don’t need to know

                                                        the whole I’m raiding from

                                                                           we must eliminate middle

                                        managers to keep the lines

                                                          of communication flat like

                                  the earth. Every cash

                                                      register is linked to a central

              computer at headquarters

                                                 so I know what to restock

                                                                     instantly every molecule

                                                                                         colliding while I slouch

                                                                                                  never not havin a point

                                                                                                 to gouge a psyche with

                                                                                            poor impassioned pronoun

                                                                                            mangled in a metaphysical

                                                                                            crevice burst into

                                                                               a happy warning

                                                              the world is your land’s


                                                 Procrit Epoetin Alfa

                                                      expanding jowl on channel

                                            four gives face. Greg, you

                                 made me yell at you

                  about assisted suicide last

        night, but everyday I’d come

                    home for two weeks and

                                   there was Brodey

                                          to mail Western Capital

                                                      Rhapsodies to special ops

                                                                   this line is a cloned line

                                                  having failed twenty-three

                                   times before success                   you don’t

                                                                                         want to see what’s

                                                                       left of those other lines

                                                                the way to protect

                                                                          jurors is by

                                                                                  abolishing juries

                         BLACKLIST ME


I, a person

with an agenda, speak

to you, not hardly breathing

down there, in quest of

a mental anguish to share

       son, did you have your

                 head with you today?

                                               wouldn’t know it if it

                                                                wasn’t clear boss

                                                                                           a hippie couple

                                    in a pipeline era

                     bopping around

                               the hemisphere searching for

                                                         an authentic syntax

                      we can hold them

         hostage for millions

                  if we can just figure out

                                               who to call

                                                                            prepare the mules

                                                                the star shoots, reads

                                                                          employment  dossier

                                                                                            masks or emphasizes

                his accent. a

                           collection of other people

                                        standing in as values. I

                                                hate light. The group is

                                                           an asshole. Self-censorship

                                                                       is the American avant-garde.

                                                            no ideas but in thingies

                                                can be read as a communal

                                          and democratic sentiment

                            save contexts kills. Canned stress

                  and fashionable ruins, subway

                                                                           evac a commuter conjunction

                                                                                  well, I was mugged on 9th and

                                                                        Fifth Ave in broad daylight

                                                         circa x-mas ’86 joining a

                                                              massive city club. It was

                                      scarier than anthrax, though

                                                           nothing scares me more than

                                               destroying a planet

                            Mandelshtam’s bear

                                         refreshed with a massive

                                                          inheritance. Reverse vitriol,

                                          a walking yes/no

                    biting myself to make it look

                               like someone gave me a hickey

                                    slinging entrails

                  at an overpaid imagination    

                                      It was “the right move.”

                                              in my heart a submersible

                                                      craft headed to a secret base

                                                                 from which to launch paid

                                                                      programming: the best of

                                                                                    autopsy, the history of

                                                                                            biological weapons, and

                                 Charmed. To confront

                 creatures whose

             existence could expose a

                                          conspiracy, press info. Southwestern

                                           sterling beaded toggle bracelet

                                   I trust my cross out

                 to abdicate the throne

                                           I don’t have new ways of dying

                                           as self-inventing broadcast

                                   the bar I left was a nightmare

                  of this dive, scotch and toilet

               water all around, how about

                               a million point two to

                                               every refugee? It’s great to

                                                       be in a cubicle,  sloth on

                                     parade. Hide the art, it sucks

                                                         out on a self-incising limb

                                  all about distribution

                                             solutions, the page

                                                 yellow as the corners

                                                           of my eyes. Giuliani

                                                 could have endorsed

               a red river hog and the hog

       would be mayor today

                     hoof and tusk digging

                            downtown concrete ash

                                          everything difficult

                             is assuming I’m alright

                                      difficult and alright

                                        is everything I’m assuming

                              alright that difficulty

                                        is everything alright

                                            that difficulty is alright

                                 assuming everything

                        is difficult, everything

                                  difficult that I’m assuming

                                                      is alright, I’m alright

                                                     assuming everything

                                   is difficult, assuming

                                                  everything is alright

              oh meat, your decision

          as an individual

      is what you must make

  to lockbox your warmth

salt and preserve it

                   for your meatlings

                                  meat loves the road

                                        so meat can ride roads

                          the length of fifty-seven

                                    times around the planet

                                                 without ever crossing

                                                                    a border shared

                                                              with another nation

                                              windows down

                                     Zepp blasting

                        just meat and the sky

            reading the crisco poem

      over the phone

at Baruch to Coletti

                   white plastic fork

                                moving by itself

                                             across the desk

                                                     I think I was overheard

                                                         by the next cubicle 

                                                   a corporate strategy dilemma

                                            purity guaranteed.

                                       Osama passes

                            George the bong

                   bitching about 21st century

                             hydroponic weed. The hand

                                   gestures: where are the seeds

                                              George? The stench of the

                                                       Earth? Bushy pays no

                                                           attention, phasing into

                                                Caspian pipeline fantasy

                             scent of G-13 wafting

                                     through the about box

                                                  Mom said you look like

                                  a terrorist, in black top

                         with shaved head

                               sacks of hate puffed up

                                    under eyes, cheap expression

                                                    speaking softly in tongues

                                                                Crisco dripping down back of neck

                                      don’t  you die when you say so

                                        according to a vague

                       yet credible source

                             something may happen

                                                   sometime soon to somebody

                                        or bodies     





Carn ensinistrada


Jo, producte invisible,

 promet trobar la manera de fer fortuna

                               gràcies a la poesia en 2002

 per mitjà dels colors Pabst

i l’estímul brutal

                                                                              a fi de fer-me un nom

                                                                                              la cara freda se sent alerta

                                                                                                                             esguellada en la sella

                                                                                                                             la plantilla fixa de guerra

                                                                                                              petà contra el saber

                                                                                              de l’instant encadellat

                                                                              genera poca poesia

per gandulejar al pas de zebra

 i explotar, desviar-se

                                sí, la banca rotativa

 salta enlaire arran de l’explosió

de la cafeteria

 hi ha un ocell que no para de canviar-me

la música a l’orella

 gràcies pels diners

 gràcies pel missatge

 provinent de l’alleujament indolor.

 els nombres odien les reunions

                                                                                              responsables financers a pesar de

                                                                                              l’actual clima de terror

contingut a casa

                                                               explosions al sofà

 als ulls psicòtics de l’ocell aturat al fanal

                vés i sigues qui et penses que

diuen que ets quan no ets a prop

                                               full de notícies: butlletí fet lletra a lletra

No SENT rancúnia.

                                                                                              Què fare per passar aquest temp feixuc?

Netejar-me amb l’espàtula de la crema

i fins que em blasmen per culpa de la


confessar: ens vam cremar els figurins al forn

                               després de superar l’infern

de l’esperit. Ara

 és ja als llibres.

Els Exèrcits del Malastre

                               un eco-quist

el dissabte a la nit

 amb execucions per cable

la instantània del cap

de Chewbacca és millor que un Vermeer

ell veu a tothom

a la sala des del món real

                                                                                                              aquest n’és una ombra

sense diners no hi ha interessos

vés i ensenya  

el porquet és a la capsa

 posant plastic

oh tot al voltant del niu

comentari arranjat

mira’l pren-li les mides

                               tallat en trossos presentables

treu-li els budells a la ment

                                                               per a penjar el cor

esforça-t’hi dins la tradició familiar

 un mecanisme de classificació de la societat

                                                                              cala foc a la pólvora i llança

                                                               globus fets de pensaments tristos

                                               espella l’espai de paraules

 a fi de trobar un acord

                               al contrari de tot el que m’han dit

                realment comunica

 la propaganda dels temps de l’estètica

                equival a un viatge personal

                               l’urpa retreta dóna carpetada a la protesta

 després de la col·lisió i  un agut i sobtat

dolor d’estómac xisclant a les onze. Ara,

la Voyager, un receptor d’idiomes coral

 inicia el viatge

                                                                                              esgrimint una opinió

sense llicència ni crèdit.

                                                                                                              Orió plana sobre el pont de Williamsburg

                                                                                              el cel d’un negre blavenc,

vint o trenta estrelles

 incomprensiblement complagudes

el present arrossegat

cap a allò feliçment inconegut

amb les coses properes

aquesta respiració maníaca

Terra Ferma

                               Sense Obligacions.

                                               El resum del joc del dia

presenta un saldo de dotze hores de beure,

sense cap registre  diari d’operacions mortals

Competències Pertinents:

mantes  verolades


coneixes els oracles

i doncs coneixes la veritable

competició, el valor de les figuretes

de fang s’encadena component

intangibles estructures

música: gestió estratègica

i poesia

                                               algú ha violentat

les meues operacions internes

una de les tires

no ha parat de sonar

                                                               enfadosament l’exigència de cantar mitjançant

rebuigs i cartes comercials

penjades en casellers

una sèrie de crisis d’indeterminació:

 sembla, fa l’olor, el gust i sona  i teoritza

com una rata

armada amb capcioses preguntes de debat:

                               augmenten les adquisicions el valor dels accionistes?

                                                                              El propietari de la Viking promet

 que el verd tornarà, però

 la foscor calenta s’acosta.

                                                                                                              però merda, la tara irreparable del circuit

                                                                                                                                                             es fa patent

                                                                                                              Escric aquests poemes

en absolut per transmetre

una oralitat obscura.

Les fotos, totes simulades

                                                                              Els tons alts, tots meus. Prou!

                                                                                                              Busts de medalla parlants

                                                                               sufoquen el suport a l’èxit dels míssils de defensa

                                                               tot just més avall de les tetines

                                              sota el galó blau

pensament emmordassat al front

                pel seu propi bé

sol que clapeja

                                                     EL GRAN MOC

                                                               has de mostrar-lo

                                                                              estàs obligat

                                                                                              a desplegar contínuament                     

l’exteriorització de les teues emocions internes

                                                                                              a mesura que el teu cor deixa de bategar

                                                                              els productes de rebuig

 encara s’apilen en cada cèl·lula.

Beure aquesta cervesa,

                               en aquest bar

                es un indicador bioquímic

pessic de merda

 les més importants que ja es descomponen

                saben quina olor fa la mort

                               podrien tenir la clau

                                               per a l’estudi comprensiu

                                                               d’allò relacional

 la cervesa i jo som

 insignificants en l’espai

                                                                              però la dinàmica

entre nosaltres

                                               és una entitat de crèdit

 a llarg termini

d’energia i significat.

Són naturalesa.

 La cervesa és un fluid.

N’he pres un gra massa.

                               caòtic camí : per fi et trobe!

gent morta que vota

gent morta que guanya eleccions

 les seues telefonades

passen de les televisions a les meues factures

                exigint acció, déu meu

 encara que no necessite conèixer

                el tot des d’on faig els meus atacs

                                               cal que eliminem

els càrrecs intermedis a fi

de mantenir  les línies

de comunicació planes

                                                               com la Terra. Cada caixa registradora

                                               està connectada a un ordinador

                               mare a la central

                                               per això sé què he de reaprovisionar

                                                                              de seguida cada molècula

                                               que col·lideix mentre em repape

sense tenir mai un punt

on trepar la psique

amb un pobre pronom apassionat

espedaçat en una clivella metafísica

                               que ha esclafit en un avís feliç

                                                               el món és el territori del teu món

                                               home del sac

                                                               Procrit Epoetin Alfa

que fa que es despengen les galtes

apareix en el canal quatre. Greg,

anit em vas fer cridar

per culpa de l’eutanàsia

però cada dia, durant dues setmanes seguides,

venia a casa

                                                                                              i allí sempre hi era Brodey

que enviava “Western Capital


                                                                                              a operacions especials

 aquesta línia és clònica

ha fallat vint-i-tres voltes abans de connectar

 no vols veure què queda

de les altres

la millor manera de protegir

els membres d’un jurat

                                                                              és abolint els jurats

                                               POSA’M EN LA LLISTA NEGRA


Jo, una persona


                                                                              et parle a tu, sense panteixar

allà baix, a la recerca

d’una angoixa mental per compartir

                               fill, on tens el cap avui?

 No ho sabria si no estigués clar, mestre

 una parella hippie

en l’era dels gasoductes

dansant per l’hemisferi

tot buscant

una sintaxi autèntica

els podem utilitzar com a ostatges

a canvi de milions

només que poguéssem endevinar

                                               a qui cridar

                               prepara les xinel·les

l’estrella roda, llig

ofertes de treball


o exagera l’accent.

una col·lecció de gent diferent

                                               que s’erigeix en valors.

Jo odie la llum.

El grup és un carallot.


                                               és l’avantguarda americana

cap idea, només xafardeig

pot interpretar-se com un sentiment

comunitari i democràtic

tret de certs contextos mata

Estrès enllaunat

                                                               i ruïnes a la moda, evacuació de metro

en una correspondència de rodalia

                                               em van assaltar entre el carrer 9 i la Cinquena Avinguda

a plena llum del dia

pels volts del Nadal del 86

prop d’un club molt concorregut.

Feia més por  que l’anthrax, encara que

                                                               res no em fa més por que la destrucció d’un planeta

                                               L’herència descomunal

va desenterrar l’ós

de Mandelstam. Fel capgirat,

                                          Un sí/no ambulant

                                                               em mossega

perquè semble que algú m’ha fet una bona xuclada

 llançant budells contra

una imaginació sobrevalorada

                                                               Era “la decisió correcta”

                                               dins del meu cor una nau submarina

                               es dirigia a una base secreta

                des de la qual llançar

                               programació informàtica de pagament:

                                               el millor de l’autòpsia,

                                               la història de les armes biològiques i

                                               Els elegits. Enfrontar-se a criatures

 l’existència de les quals

podria posar al descobert una conspiració,

                                          premeu info. Braçalet amb fermall

de granadura d’excel·lent

qualitat provinent del sud-oest

Confie en la meua guixada

per abdicar el tron

no tinc noves maneres de morir

com a emissió autoinventada

el bar que vaig deixar era un malson

d’aquest cau, whisky i aigua de colònia pertot,

i què em dieu d’un milió coma dos per a cada refugiat?

                  És fantàstic estar en una cabina,

la peresa a la vista de tots.

Amagueu l’art,

l’art xucla d’un membre autolesionat

                               La veritat de les solucions

de distribució, la pàgina groga

com les cues dels meus ulls

Giuliani podria haver avalat

un porc subsaharià

i avui el porc seria alcalde

amb la peülla i l’ullal cavant

la cendra d’asfalt

del centre financer de la ciutat

tot el que és difícil

pressuposa que jo tinc raó

difícil i correcte

és tot allò que jo amb raó


que la dificultat és

tot allò raonable

que la dificultat és correcta

pressuposant que tot siga difícil,

tot allò difícil que jo pressupose

és raonable, jo tinc raó

pressuposant que tot siga difícil,

pressuposant que tot és perfecte       

oh, carn, la teua decisió

com a individu

és el que has de construir

per preservar-hi la teua calor

sala-la i conserva-la

per als teus refillols

                               la carn adora la carretera

així doncs la carn pot recórrer carreteres

 de la llargada de cinquanta-set voltes al planeta

sense mai creuar una frontera compartida

                amb una altra nació

abaixa les finestretes

el Zepp retruny

                                                               només la carn i el cel

                                               llegint  al telèfon

el poema de crisco

en Baruch per a Coletti

 la forquilla de plàstic blanc

                               es mou pel seu compte

                                                               sobre l’escriptori

crec que em van sentir

en la cabina del costat

un dilema d’estratègia corporativa

puresa garantida.

Ossama li passa el ning-nang

a George remugant sobre

les algues hidropòniques del segle XXI

La mà gesticula:

 on són les llavors, George? La pudor

de la Terra? Bushy no fa cas,

ja en trànsit cap a la fantasia del gasoducte caspià

els efluvis del G-13

emanen a través de la caixa aquesta.

                               La mare va dir que sembles

                                               un terrorista de brusa negra amb el cap afaitat

 bosses d’odi inflades a vessar sota els ulls,

                                               d’expressió potinera

                                                               parlant idiomes dolçament

Crisco gotejant pel bescoll

no mors quan dius això

                                               d’acord amb una tènue

                               però encara creïble font

alguna cosa pot passar

en un proper futur

a algú o a alguns



[Traducció de Francesc Sellés]


 a | entrada | Llibre del Tigre | sèrieAlfa | varia | Berliner Mauer |