Tatyana_v_727 has added a photograph to the pool:
Whitman
1 Flood-tide under me! I see you nose to nose!
Clouds of the west—solar there half an hour excessive—I see you additionally nose to nose.
Crowds of women and men attired within the standard costumes, how curious you might be to me!
On the ferry-boats the a whole lot and a whole lot that cross, returning residence, are extra curious to me than you suppose,
And also you that shall cross from shore to shore years therefore are extra to me, and extra in my meditations, than you may suppose.
2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all issues in any respect hours of the day,
The easy, compact, well-join’d scheme, myself disintegrated, each one disintegrated but a part of the scheme,
The similitudes of the previous and people of the long run,
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on the stroll on the street and the passage over the river,
The present speeding so swiftly and swimming with me distant,
The others which might be to comply with me, the ties between me and them,
The knowledge of others, the life, love, sight, listening to of others.
Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to shore,
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,
Others will see the transport of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
Others will see the islands massive and small;
Fifty years therefore, others will see them as they cross, the solar half an hour excessive,
100 years therefore, or ever so many hundred years therefore, others will see them,
Will benefit from the sundown, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-back to the ocean of the ebb-tide.
It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
I’m with you, you women and men of a era, or ever so many generations therefore,
Simply as you’re feeling while you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
Simply as any of you is certainly one of a dwelling crowd, I used to be certainly one of a crowd,
Simply as you might be refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the intense circulation, I used to be refresh’d,
Simply as you stand and lean on the rail, but hurry with the swift present, I stood but was hurried,
Simply as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the thick-stemm’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d.
Mayakovsky
Give, Coolidge,
a shout of pleasure!
I too will spare no phrases
about good issues.
Blush
at my reward,
go pink as our flag,
nonetheless
united-states
-of
-america you could be.
As a crazed believer
enters
a church,
retreats
right into a monastery cell,
austere and plain;
so I,
in graying night
haze,
humbly set foot
on Brooklyn Bridge.
As a conqueror presses
right into a metropolis
all shattered,
on cannon with muzzles
craning excessive as a giraffe—
so, drunk with glory,
desirous to stay,
I clamber,
in satisfaction,
upon Brooklyn Bridge.
As a silly painter
plunges his eye,
sharp and loving,
right into a museum madonna,
so I
from the close to skies
bestrewn with stars,
gaze
at New York
via the Brooklyn Bridge.
New York,
heavy and stifling
until night time,
has forgotten
its hardships
and top;
and solely
the family ghosts
ascend
within the lucid glow of its home windows.
Right here
the elevateds
drone softly.
And solely
their mild
droning
inform us:
right here trains
are crawling and rattling
like dishes
being cleared into a cabinet.
Whereas
a shopkeeper fetched sugar
from a mill
that appeared to challenge
out of the water—
the masts
passing underneath the bridge
appeared
no bigger than pins.
I’m proud
of simply this
mile of metal;
upon it,
my visions come to life, erect—
right here’s a combat
for building
as an alternative of favor,
an austere disposition
of bolts
and metal.
If
the top of the world
befall—
and chaos
smash out planet
to bits,
and what stays
will likely be
this
bridge, rearing above the mud of destruction;
then,
as large historical lizards
are rebuilt
from bones
finer than needles,
to tower in museums,
so,
from this bridge,
a geologist of the centuries
will succeed
in recreating
our up to date world.
He’ll say:
—Yonder paw
of metal
as soon as joined
the seas and the prairies;
from this spot,
Europe
rushed to the West,
scattering
to the wind
Indian feathers.
This rib
reminds us
of a machine—
simply think about,
would there be palms sufficient,
after planting
a metal foot
in Manhattan,
to yank
Brooklyn to oneself
by the lip?
By the cables
of electrical strands,
I acknowledge
the period succeeding
the steam age—
right here
males
had ranted
on radio.
Right here
males
had ascended
in planes.
For some,
life
right here
had no worries;
for others,
it was a protracted
and hungry howl.
From this spot,
jobless males
leapt
headlong
into the Hudson.
Now
my canvas
is unobstructed
because it stretches on cables of string
to the ft of the celebs.
I see:
right here
stood Mayakovsky,
stood,
composing verse, syllable by syllable.
I stare
as an Eskimo gapes at a prepare,
I seize on it
as a tick fastens to an ear.
Brooklyn Bridge—
sure . . .
That’s fairly a factor!
Crane
What number of dawns, chill from his rippling relaxation
The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, constructing excessive
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—
Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some web page of figures to be filed away;
—Until elevators drop us from our day …
I consider cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent towards some flashing scene
By no means disclosed, however hastened to once more,
Foretold to different eyes on the identical display screen;
And Thee, throughout the harbor, silver paced
As if the solar took step of thee but left
Some movement ever unspent in thy stride,—
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!
Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.
Down Wall, from girder into avenue midday leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky’s acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud flown derricks flip …
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic nonetheless.
And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon … Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time can not elevate:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost present.
O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How may mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet’s pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover’s cry,
Once more the visitors lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path—condense eternity:
And we now have seen night time lifted in thine arms.
Underneath thy shadow by the piers I waited
Solely in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The Metropolis’s fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron 12 months …
O Sleepless because the river underneath thee,
Vaulting the ocean, the prairies’ dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest someday sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a delusion to God.
Tatyana_v_727 , 2025-04-26 04:39:00
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