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Sarah B reads "Now" a poem by David Hart hartistry
Sarah B reads "Now" a poem by David Hart hartistry
"Now" by D. Hart
Let us embark now, you and I,
As evening splays out to
The blue-blackening sky.
Let us ride through
Particular smooth stoned
Streets,
To incoherent rowdy
Retreats,
To white table-clothed
Restaurants,
And mint pillowed four
Starred hotels,
With cherished friends
And talk of noble feats,
To dancing streets that
Entice our feet.
And indeed this is now
This gallant moment in
Time.
Gales of laughter now
Somersault through
the roof pirouetting
in the sky, then careen
now down to tickle the
tops of our heads.
The time is now
And always will be.
No time for the past.
No time for the future.
They don't really exist.
Now exists.
Now will be the moment.
Now will always be the moment.
Forever, now.
The Cambridge Ladies who live in furnished souls by e.e. cummings
the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)
HE Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things--
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
.... the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy
Proem: To Brooklyn Bridge by Hart Crane
Proem: To Brooklyn Bridge by Hart Crane
To Brooklyn Bridge
by Hart Crane
How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty--
Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
--Till elevators drop us from our day . . .
I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;
And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced
As though the sun took step of thee, yet left
Some motion 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 street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . .
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.
And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.
O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry,--
Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path--condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.
Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City's fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year . . .
O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.
In Goyas Greatest Scenes We Seem to See ...Lawrence Ferlinghetti
In Goyas Greatest Scenes We Seem to See ...
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
In Goyas greatest scenes we seem to see the people of the world exactly at the moment when they first attained the title of suffering humanity They writhe upon the page in a veritable rage of adversity Heaped up groaning with babies and bayonets under cement skies in an abstract landscape of blasted trees bent statues bats wings and beaks slippery gibbets cadavers and carnivorous cocks and all the final hollering monsters of the imagination of disaster they are so bloody real it is as if they really still existed And they do Only the landscape is changed
They still are ranged along the roads plagued by legionnaires false windmills and demented roosters
They are the same people only further from home on freeways fifty lanes wide on a concrete continent spaced with bland billboards illustrating imbecile illusions of happiness The scene shows fewer tumbrils but more strung-out citizens in painted cars and they have strange license plates and engines that devour America
The Penny Candy Store by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The Penny Candy Store by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The pennycandystore beyond the El
The pennycandystore beyond the El
is where I first
fell in love with unreality
Jellybeans glowed in the semi-gloom
of that september afternoon
A cat upon the counter moved among
the licorice sticks
and tootsie rolls
and Oh Boy Gum
Outside the leaves were falling as they died
A wind had blown away the sun
A girl ran in
Her hair was rainy
Her breasts were breathless in the little room
Outside the leaves were falling and they cried
Too soon! too soon!
-- Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
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