Etymology switcheroo
America / Allen GinsbergAmerica I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yorself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are yor libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newpapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx,
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I'm talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour and
twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes.
America I will sell your strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven mamma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us
garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches
were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was
all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835
Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry
I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers' Digest. Her wants our auto
plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read. Him need big black
niggers. Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better getright down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision part
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Şiirin Türkçeye çevirisi
Tom Waits'in ağzından bu şiir ("Closing Time" albümünden) [4.5Mb]
Küçük İskender'in 'Türkiye'si
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yorself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are yor libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newpapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx,
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I'm talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour and
twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes.
America I will sell your strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven mamma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us
garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches
were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was
all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835
Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry
I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers' Digest. Her wants our auto
plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read. Him need big black
niggers. Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better getright down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision part
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Şiirin Türkçeye çevirisi
Tom Waits'in ağzından bu şiir ("Closing Time" albümünden) [4.5Mb]
Küçük İskender'in 'Türkiye'si
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**Poem Title:** America
**Poet:** Allen Ginsberg (though the text mixes many voices and references, it is widely attributed to him)
Context & Background
The poem is a dense, fragmented meditation that reflects the political and cultural anxieties of the 1950s‑60s United States. Ginsberg, a leading figure of the Beat Generation, was known for his candid critiques of American materialism, militarism, and conformity. The text you provided is a highly stylized version that interweaves autobiographical fragments, political slogans, and surreal imagery—typical of Ginsberg’s stream‑of‑consciousness technique.
Structural Observations
- Fragmentation: The poem is broken into short, abrupt lines that often cut off mid‑thought. This creates a sense of urgency and disorientation.
- Repetition: The refrain “America …” anchors the poem, but each iteration introduces new concerns or questions.
- Allusion & Intertextuality: References to Marx, Trotsky, the Scottsboro Boys, and the “Sacco & Vanzetti” case signal a critique of American justice and capitalism. Mentions of “Time Magazine,” “Berkeley Public Library,” and “Chicago” place the poem in contemporary cultural geography.
- Surreal juxtaposition: The poem mixes the mundane (“two dollars and twenty‑seven cents”) with the cosmic (“my mystical visions and cosmic vibrations”), producing a dreamlike, hallucinatory tone.
Key Themes
- Political Alienation & Activism: The speaker questions America’s moral compass (“when will we end the human war?”) and laments its militaristic impulses (“Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb”).
- Identity & Nationalism: The repeated self‑reference (“I am America”) blurs personal and collective identity, echoing Beat concerns about individual authenticity versus national conformity.
- Consumerism & Media Influence: Obsessions with Time Magazine and the mention of “supermarket” critique the commodification of life.
- Racial & Cultural Tension: The poem contains both progressive calls (“free Tom Mooney”) and problematic, racially charged language. This reflects the era’s conflicting attitudes toward race.
- Spiritual & Existential Crisis: The speaker’s self‑destructive habits (“smoke marijuana”) and yearning for transcendence (“my mystical visions”) illustrate a search for meaning beyond material success.
Language & Imagery
- Colloquial Voice: The use of slang (“go fuck yourself”) and contemporary references grounds the poem in its time.
- Symbolic Motifs:
- Atom bomb – a symbol of Cold War anxieties.
- Rose in the closet – a hidden beauty, perhaps alluding to suppressed sexuality.
- Trojskyites – a nod to revolutionary idealism.
- Contrasts: The poem juxtaposes “angelic” with “sinister,” “silly mood” with “seriousness,” creating tension that mirrors the societal contradictions of its era.
Interpretive Possibilities
- Critique of American Exceptionalism: By constantly questioning America’s moral authority, the poem challenges the myth that the U.S. is inherently superior.
- Beat Manifesto: The speaker’s refusal to conform, embrace of altered states, and yearning for communal liberation align with Beat ideology.
- Personal vs. Collective Trauma: The poem’s chaotic structure may mirror the speaker’s psychological distress, reflecting a broader national anxiety during the Cold War.
Concluding Thoughts
The poem “America” is a powerful, if chaotic, testament to the discontent that defined much of mid‑20th century America. Its fragmented style, political fervor, and raw emotional honesty capture the spirit of a generation questioning authority, exploring alternative lifestyles, and seeking deeper meaning in an increasingly complex world.
Note: this analysis was generated automatically and is still under development.
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