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Roads +
Bibliographic Information Author Lowell, Amy Genre Poetry Journal or Book A Dome of Many-Colored Glass Publisher Houghton Mifflin Company Year of Publication 1922 Pages 53 Additional information - ode I know a country laced with roads, They join the hills and they span the brooks, They weave like a shuttle between broad fields, And slide discreetly through hidden nooks. They are canopied like a Persian dome And carpeted with orient dyes. They are myriad-voiced, and musical, And scented with happiest memories. O Winding roads that I know so well, Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill! They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune Gay as a honey-bee humming in June. ‘T is the rhythmic beat of a horse's feet And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch; ‘T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze, And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch. road agency personification river hill scenery metaphor music sound smell sublime tree wind summer A cow in a meadow shakes her bell And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air, Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where The sun splashed bright on the road ahead A startled rabbit quivered and fled. O Uphill roads and roads that dip down! You curl your sun-spattered length along, And your march is beaten into a song By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse And the panting breath of the dogs I love. The pageant of Autumn follows its course And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above. animal sky sound music fall road sky sunshine topography And the song and the country become as one, I see it as music, I hear it as light; Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone, The land of desire, my soul's delight. And always it beats in my listening ears With the gentle thud of a horse's stride, With the swift-falling steps of many dogs, Following, following at my side. O Roads that journey to fairyland! Radiant highways whose vistas gleam, Leading me on, under crimson leaves, To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream. music pleasure affect sound animal road highway  
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Safety in Conversation +
Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 52 Additional information - At a certain round-table a good-natured bunch Of finest of fellows met daily for lunch. An hour’s interchange of thoughts and ideas, All would depart each feeling at ease. They talked of the weather careless and free, A topic on which they did all agree. When one would mention the income tax, It was an occasion to give it some whacks. Golf came in for a share of discussion, There’s nothing in golf to cause any fussin’, If business was good or if it was bad, They tackled the matter and never got mad. When they discussed our time parking limit, All were agreed on keeping within it. But when they brought up our boulevard stop, Not one but said it was all tommy-rot. parking slowness Around this table without any jars They freely debated on all motor cars. They praised or condemned without any heat, Each claiming his car did all others beat. car model Things they discussed to no one was vital, Subjects were chosen for safety of title Till they took up a question a million years old Of vital concern to every one’s soul. time Of God each took a different stand, Divided on Nature, Spirit and Man, While one did declare God didn’t exist, The good-natured bunch has since been missed. religion On most every subject when men don’t agree, They smile, shake hands and part cheerfully. There’s danger in topics of soul and heart, Talk Six Studebaker and friends you will part. car model —The Car with Character.  
Sandburg, Carl +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race Caucasian Nationality American Life span 1878-1967 Texts from Sandburg, Carl Clean Curtains  +
School Days +
Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 131-132 Additional information - In years of yore it made us sore, When teacher called our name, And said next Friday afternoon, You’re one that must declaim. Now we were always timid quite, To stand before the school, But declamations once a week, Was teacher’s golden rule. There’s nothing to declaim about, We then did fairly shout. Then teacher said with nasty flout, Keep still or you go out. But teacher loaned us many books, And all she did indorse, And that is how we came to tell The school about the horse. One book had pictures and a tale That sounded very fine, But we could never memorize No more than just a Iine, We then proceeded right away To join a horses’ band, And study horses in their play, And learn them out of hand. We then declaimed to all the school, Don’t take us for a fool, We find the horse is good to work, And bigger than a mule. He has two eyes so very keen, They see when you are coming, In front two feet and two behind, That move when he is running. He has two ears with which he hears, And tail to scare the flies, Sometimes he balks but never talks, By eating he survives. Some are bay and some are gray, And some of color muggy, The big and tall look best of all, In a Studebaker buggy. equipment car model If we again had to declaim And take a teacher’s jars, We'd tell you all about mistakes Of certain motor cars. We’d tell it true in words a few, The car of any maker, Is one we sell, the best for you, And made by Studebaker. car car model —The Car with Character.  
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Service, Robert William +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race Caucasian Nationality Scottish-Canadian Life span 1874-1958 Texts from Service, Robert William Quatrains  +
Shackelford, Otis M. +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race - Nationality - Life span 1871-? Texts from Shackelford, Otis M. On the Road  +
Shanks, Charles B. +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race - Nationality American Life span - Texts from Shanks, Charles B. Automobiling in the West  +
She being Brand +
Bibliographic Information Author Cummings, Edward Estline Genre Poetry Journal or Book E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 Publisher Liveright Year of Publication 1926 Pages 246 Additional information - technology pleasure gender she being Brand personification gender -new;and you know consequently a little stiff i was careful of her and(having thoroughly oiled the universal joint tested my gas felt of her radiator made sure her springs were O. car part haptic gender maintenance K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her driving car part metaphor up,slipped the clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she kicked what the hell)next minute i was back in neutral tried and driving car part gender haptic agency personification again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my lev-er Right- oh and her gears being in A 1 shape passed from low through second-in-to-high like greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity car part gender metaphor haptic driving pleasure avenue i touched the accelerator and give her the juice,good (it was the first ride and believe i we was happy to see how nice she acted right up to the last minute coming back down by the Public Gardens i slammed on driving gender haptic the internalexpanding & externalcontracting brakes Bothatonce and car part personification brought allofher tremB -ling to a:dead. stand- ;-Still) slowness stop  +
Soiled Dove +
Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 153 Additional information - Let us be honest; the lady was not a harlot until she married a corporation lawyer who picked her from a Ziegfeld chorus. Before then she never took anybody's money and paid for her silk stockings out of what she earned singing and dancing. She loved one man and he loved six women and the game was changing her looks, calling for more and more massage money and high coin for the beauty doctors. Now she drives a long, underslung motor car all by her- self, reads in the day's papers what her husband is doing to the inter-state commerce commission, re- quires a larger corsage from year to year, and won- ders sometimes how one man is coming along with six women. car driver metaphor  +
Spring in California +
Bibliographic Information Author Fraser, Vonard Genre Poetry Journal or Book Motor Land Publisher - Year of Publication 1922 Pages 24 Additional information - There's a strident call in the Open Road Where the Spring's glad message lies, And the motor sings me a joyous song With a lilt of the azure skies. car sound music personification pleasure road sky spring O’er the ribboned line of the Great Highway, Where the wildflower carpet's laid, Where the poppy opens her golden cup As a symbol of Spring arrayed. highway plant metaphor road spring Through the forests, born in an ancient day, With their banks of moss and bloom, And the bordered aisles of the canyons dim Where the giant Redwoods loom. forest tree plant Then o'er hill and dale to the realm of snow, To the mirrored lakes and rills, While the skylark's call from the meadows green Can be heard on a thousand hills. snow lake animal sound For the feverish press in this Game of Life What a balm does Nature bear! What a draught of health in the new-turned earth, What a change from the realm of Care! O, the key to much that the world loves best Can be found beside the way, If your motor sings you a joyous song At the dawn of a bright spring day. car personification pleasure music sound spring  +
Stoner, Dayton +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race - Nationality American Life span 1883-1944 Texts from Stoner, Dayton The Toll of the Automobile  +
Sunday Morning +
Bibliographic Information Author MacNeice, Louis Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Faber Book of Modern Verse Publisher Faber and Faber Year of Publication 1923 Pages 304 Additional information - Down the road someone is practising scales, The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, Man’s heart expands to tinker with his car For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar, Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. pleasure speed maintenance car part road But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire Opens its eight bells out, skulls’ mouths which will not tire To tell how there is no music or movement which secures Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures. architecture music sound metaphor haptic death  +
Sung by the Choir +
Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 237 Additional information - Holy, holy, holy, sang the choir, From singing holy seemed to never tire, We were told it was an anthem grand, Sung in churches through the land. car part metaphor Much we’ve heard of Holy Writ, But never heard of singing it, It’s what the preacher talks about, The choir just holy, holy, shout. When the choir the anthem gave, Some we heard about it rave, All that we could understand, Was holy, holy, holy-land. Holy, holy, on they sang, The church with holy, holy, rang, They kept right on to holy sing, We thought a change the proper thing. The tenor holy, holy, holy, said, Until he seemed as nearly dead, Then holy, holy, sang the base, With holiness upon his face. Soprano had a holy time, The alto wasn’t far behind, Each had tried their vocal range, Still, from holy not a change. Through this anthem that we heard, But holy not another word, The song was just a lavish noise, To fill you with a lot of joys. They call this music very fine, Sung by the choir in perfect time, Here’s the music we prefer, A Studebaker engine’s purr. car model engine sound zoomorphism —The Car with Character.  +
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Teasdale, Sara +
Gender Female Ethnicity/Race Caucasian Nationality American Life span 1884-1933 Texts from Teasdale, Sara May Day  +
Text Search +
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The ABC of the Automobile +
Bibliographic Information Author Weeks, Carrie Foote Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Outing Magazine Publisher - Year of Publication 1906 Pages 687 Additional information - A at the start was an Automobile. It answers to motor car, just as you feel. car B is the Brake that gives you control. If the Bubble Breaks you, you're in a Big hole. car part C stands for Cylinder, and your Chauffeur, Who takes many Chances at sixty-five per. car part speed D is the up-to-Date Dealer serene, And the Dance that he leads you about the machine. E is Experience for young and old; We pay dearly for it, and often are sold. F is the Factory where you will find It is Foolish to Fuss, if they're four months behind. G is Garage, and the God, Gasoline, Who Guides all his subjects, yet never is seen. gasoline infrastructure H is H. P., your Heaven and Hell. What pace are you making? The police can tell. law speed I is Ignition, Insurance and Ice. These three you must have on an expert's advice. car part J might stand now for a new Jeremiah, Who foretells disasters by flame, speed, or tire. car part risk speed K stands for all Kinds of cars on the mart. To pick the Kingpin would take cleverest art. car L stands for License, and Lawyer, and Lie— You're in touch with them all when an auto you buy. car law M is the Model you choose with great care, The Map that you follow for roads that aren’t there. car car model road map N is the Number attached to your car, And the Name (not a rose) that proclaims it a star. car law O is the Oil used for food and for drink, By this Ogre, half human, the real missing link. metaphor oil P stands for "Plain Clothes Men" always about. Police you can spot. For the others, watch out. Q is the Quest for a feminine hat, That will stay on the head, and have style, and all that. R stands foe Rules which must be obeyed, And the Races we win,—in our dreams, I'm afraid. law S means the Songs that we sing late at night, As the Search light weaves Shadows, now ghostly, now bright. T is the Tonneau for five, three or two. If a Tack finds your Tire, it’s all up with you. car part U is the Unruly, and also Uncertain. On the manners of autos and maids drop the curtain. car law V is Vibration—in sunshine, in gale, It's with us like goggles, or long auto Veil. W stands for Weight, and all kinds of Wheels. (Not Wheels in your head, or Weight in your heels) car part X is Xcess. Pray keep well in hand, For motor-car maniacs people the land. car risk Y stands for Yearnings to go far and fast. O bright Yellow Moon! we'll reach you at last. affect speed Z is the Zany so puffed up with Zeal, That he thinks he has mastered the automobile. car skill  
The Baker's Boy +
Bibliographic Information Author Newsome, Mary Effie Lee Genre Poetry Journal or Book Golden Slippers: An Anthology of Negro Poetry for Young Readers Publisher Harper & Row Year of Publication 1927 Pages 26 Additional information - The baker's boy delivers loaves All up and down our street. His car is white, his clothes are white, White to his very feet. I wonder if he stays that way. I don't see how he does all day. I’d like to watch him going home When all the loaves are out. His clothes must look quite different then, At least I have no doubt. car road whiteness  +
The Bridge: IV Cape Hatteras +
Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Hart Crane Publisher Liveright Publishing Corporation Year of Publication 1933 Pages 31-39 Additional information - animal East The seas all crossed, weathered the capes, the voyage done... —WALT WHITMAN Imponderable the dinosaur sinks slow, the mammoth saurian ghoul, the eastern Cape.. animal East While rises in the west the coastwise range, slowly the hushed land— Combustion at the astral core—the dorsal change Of energy—convulsive shift of sand... But we, who round the capes, the promontories Where strange tongues vary messages of surf Below grey citadels, repeating to the stars The ancient names—return home to our own Hearths, there to eat an apple and recall The songs that gypsies dealt us at Marseille Or how the priests walked—slowly through Bombay— Or to read you, Walt,—knowing us in thrall West engine metaphor coast intertext To that deep wonderment, our native clay Whose depth of red, eternal flesh of Pocahontus— Those continental folded aeons, surcharged With sweetness below derricks, chimneys, tunnels— Is veined by all that time has really pledged us... And from above, thin squeaks of radio static, The captured fume of space foams in our ears— What whisperings of far watches on the main Relapsing into silence, while time clears Our lenses, lifts a focus, resurrects A periscope to glimpse what joys or pain Our eyes can share or answer—then deflects Us, shunting to a labyrinth submersed Where each sees only his dim past reversed... Native American infrastructure oil technology sound But that star-glistered salver of infinity, The circle, blind crucible of endless space, Is sliced by motion,—subjugated never. Adam and Adam's answer in the forest Left Hesperus mirrored in the lucid pool. Now the eagle dominates our days, is jurist Of the ambiguous cloud. We know the strident rule Of wings imperious... Space, instantaneous, Flickers a moment, consumes us in its smile: A flash over the horizon—shifting gears— And we have laughter, or more sudden tears. Dream cancels dream in this new realm of fact From which we wake into the dream of act; Seeing himself an atom in a shroud— Man hears himself an engine in a cloud! night animal car part stars engine metaphor driving "—Recorders ages hence"—ah, syllables of faith! Walt, tell me, Walt Whitman, if infinity Be still the same as when you walked the beach Near Paumanok—your lone patrol—and heard the wraith Through surf, its bird note there a long time falling... For you, the panoramas and this breed of towers, Of you—the theme that's statured in the cliff, O Saunterer on free ways still ahead! Not this our empire yet, but labyrinth Wherein your eyes, like the Great Navigator's without ship, Gleam from the great stones of each prison crypt Of canyoned traffic... Confronting the Exchange, Surviving in a world of stocks,—they also range Across the hills where second timber strays Back over Connecticut farms, abandoned pastures,— Sea eyes and tidal, undenying, bright with myth! intertext traffic metaphor agriculture animal The nasal whine of power whips a new universe... Where spouting pillars spoor the evening sky, Under the looming stacks of the gigantic power house Stars prick the eyes with sharp ammoniac proverbs, New verities, new inklings in the velvet hummed Of dynamos, where hearing's leash is strummed... Power's script,—wound, bobbin-bound, refined— Is stropped to the slap of belts on booming spools, spurred Into the bulging bouillon, harnessed jelly of the stars. Towards what? The forked crash of split thunder parts Our hearing momentwise; but fast in whirling armatures, As bright as frogs' eyes, giggling in the girth Of steely gizzards—axle-bound, confined In coiled precision, bunched in mutual glee The bearings glint,—O murmurless and shined In oilrinsed circles of blind ecstasy! sound pollution infrastructure oil car part thunder animal Stars scribble on our eyes the frosty sagas, The gleaming cantos of unvanquished space... O sinewy silver biplane, nudging the wind's withers! There, from Kill Devils Hill at Kitty Hawk Two brothers in their twinship left the dune; Warping the gale, the Wright windwrestlers veered Capeward, then blading the wind's flank, banked and spun What ciphers risen from prophetic script, What marathons new-set between the stars! The soul, by naphtha fledged into new reaches Already knows the closer clasp of Mars,— New latitudes, unknotting, soon give place To what fierce schedules, rife of doom apace! night stars wind speed plane Behold the dragon's covey—amphibian, ubiquitous To hedge the seaboard, wrap the headland, ride The blue's cloud-templed districts unto ether... While Iliads glimmer through eyes raised in pride Hell's belt springs wider into heaven's plumed side. O bright circumferences, heights employed to fly War's fiery kennel masked in downy offings,— This tournament of space, the threshed and chiselled height, Is baited by marauding circles, bludgeon flail Of rancorous grenades whose screaming petals carve us Wounds that we wrap with theorems sharp as hail! intertext Wheeled swiftly, wings emerge from larval-silver hangars. Taut motors surge, space-gnawing, into flight; Through sparkling visibility, outspread, unsleeping, Wings clip the last peripheries of light... Tellurian wind-sleuths on dawn patrol, Each plane a hurtling javelin of winged ordnance, Bristle the heights above a screeching gale to hover; Surely no eye that Sunward Escadrille can cover! There, meaningful, fledged as the Pleiades With razor sheen they zoom each rapid helix! Up-chartered choristers of their own speeding They, cavalcade on escapade, shear Cumulus— Lay siege and hurdle Cirrus down the skies! While Cetus-like, O thou Dirigible, enormous Lounger Of pendulous auroral beaches,—satellited wide By convoy planes, moonferrets that rejoin thee On fleeing balconies as thou dost glide, —Hast splintered space! metaphor car speed visibility driving wind car part weapon intertext technology Low, shadowed of the Cape, Regard the moving turrets! From grey decks See scouting griffons rise through gaseous crepe Hung low... until a conch of thunder answers Cloud-belfries, banging, while searchlights, like fencers, Slit the sky's pancreas of foaming anthracite Toward thee, O Corsair of the typhoon,—pilot, hear! Thine eyes bicarbonated white by speed, O Skygak, see How from thy path above the levin's lance Thou sowest doom thou hast nor time nor chance To reckon—as thy stilly eyes partake What alcohol of space...! Remember, Falcon-Ace, Thou hast there in thy wrist a Sanskrit charge To conjugate infinity's dim marge— Anew...! plane But first, here at this height receive The benediction of the shell's deep, sure reprieve! Lead-perforated fuselage, escutcheoned wings Lift agonized quittance, tilting from the invisible brink Now eagle-bright, now quarry-hid, twist- -ing, sink with Enormous repercussive list- -ings down Giddily spiralled gauntlets, upturned, unlooping In guerrilla sleights, trapped in combustion gyr- Ing, dance the curdled depth down whizzing Zodiacs, dashed (now nearing fast the Cape!) down gravitation's vortex into crashed ...dispersion...into mashed and shapeless débris.... By Hatteras bunched the beached heap of high bravery! plane The stars have grooved our eyes with old persuasions Of love and hatred, birth,—surcease of nations... But who has held the heights more sure than thou, O Walt!—Ascensions of thee hover in me now As thou at junctions elegiac, there, of speed With vast eternity, dost wield the rebound seed! The competent loam, the probable grass,—travail Of tides awash the pedestal of Everest, fail Not less than thou in pure impulse inbred To answer deepest soundings! O, upward from the dead Thou bringest tally, and a pact, new bound, Of living brotherhood! intertext Thou, there beyond— Glacial sierras and the flight of ravens, Hermetically past condor zones, through zenith havens Past where the albatross has offered up His last wing-pulse, and downcast as a cup That's drained, is shivered back to earth—thy wand Has beat a song, O Walt,—there and beyond! And this, thine other hand, upon my heart Is plummet ushered of those tears that start What memories of vigils, bloody, by that Cape,— Ghoul-mound of man's perversity at balk And fraternal massacre! Thou, pallid there as chalk, Hast kept of wounds, O Mourner, all that sum That then from Appomattox stretched to Somme! Cowslip and shad-blow, flaked like tethered foam Around bared teeth of stallions, bloomed that spring When first I read thy lines, rife as the loam Of prairies, yet like breakers cliffward leaping! O, early following thee, I searched the hill Blue-writ and odor-firm with violets, 'til With June the mountain laurel broke through green And filled the forest with what clustrous sheen! Potomac lilies, — then the Pontiac rose, And Klondike edelweiss of occult snows! White banks of moonlight came descending valleys— How speechful on oak-vizored palisades, As vibrantly I following down Sequoia alleys Heard thunder's eloquence through green arcades Set trumpets breathing in each clump and grass tuft—'til Gold autumn, captured, crowned the trembling hill! Panis Angelicus! Eyes tranquil with the blaze Of love's own diametric gaze, of love's amaze! Not greatest, thou,—not first, nor last,—but near And onward yielding past my utmost year. Familiar, thou, as mendicants in public places; Evasive—too—as dayspring's spreading arc to trace is:— Our Meistersinger, thou set breath in steel; And it was thou who on the boldest heel Stood up and flung the span on even wing Of that great Bridge, our Myth, whereof I sing! Years of the Modern! Propulsions toward what capes? But thou, Panis Angelicus, hast thou not seen And passed that Barrier that none escapes— But knows it leastwise as death-strife?—O, something green, Beyond all sesames of science was thy choice Wherewith to bind us throbbing with one voice, New integers of Roman, Viking, Celt— Thou, Vedic Caesar, to the greensward knelt! And now, as launched in abysmal cupolas of space, Toward endless terminals, Easters of speeding light— Vast engines outward veering with seraphic grace On clarion cylinders pass out of sight To course that span of consciousness thou'st named The Open Road—thy vision is reclaimed! What heritage thou'st signalled to our hands! infrastructure road engine car part vision And see! the rainbow's arch—how shimmeringly stands Above the Cape's ghoul-mound, O joyous seer! Recorders ages hence, yes, they shall hear In their own veins uncancelled thy sure tread And read thee by the aureole 'round thy head Of pasture-shine, Panis Angelicus! Yes, Walt, Afoot again, and onward without halt,— Not soon, nor suddenly,—No, never to let go My hand in yours, Walt Whitman— so— road rainbow intertext  
The Bridge: VII The Tunnel +
Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Hart Crane Publisher Liveright Publishing Corporation Year of Publication 1933 Pages 49-54 Additional information - To Find the Western path Right thro' the Gates of Wrath —Blake Performances, assortments, résumés— Up Times Square to Columbus Circle lights Channel the congresses, nightly sessions, Refractions of the thousand theatres, faces— Mysterious kitchens.... You shall search them all. Some day by heart you’ll learn each famous sight And watch the curtain lift in hell’s despite; You’ll find the garden in the third act dead, Finger your knees—and wish yourself in bed With tabloid crime-sheets perched in easy sight. city urban Then let you reach your hat and go. As usual, let you—also walking down—exclaim to twelve upward leaving a subscription praise for what time slays. pedestrian Or can’t you quite make up your mind to ride; A walk is better underneath the L a brisk Ten blocks or so before? But you find yourself Preparing penguin flexions of the arms,— As usual you will meet the scuttle yawn: The subway yawns the quickest promise home. pedestrian infrastructure urban Be minimum, then, to swim the hiving swarms Out of the Square, the Circle burning bright— Avoid the glass doors gyring at your right, Where boxed alone a second, eyes take fright —Quite unprepared rush naked back to light: And down beside the turnstile press the coin Into the slot. The gongs already rattle. urban city infrastructure sound visibility And so of cities you bespeak subways, rivered under streets and rivers.... In the car the overtone of motion underground, the monotone of motion is the sound of other faces, also underground— city infrastructure train car sound “Let’s have a pencil Jimmy—living now at Floral Park Flatbush—on the Fourth of July— like a pigeon’s muddy dream—potatoes to dig in the field—travlin the town—too— night after night—the Culver line—the girls all shaping up—it used to be—” Our tongues recant like beaten weather vanes. This answer lives like verdigris, like hair Beyond extinction, surcease of the bone; And repetition freezes—“What “what do you want? getting weak on the links? fandaddle daddy don’t ask for change—IS THIS FOURTEENTH? it’s half past six she said—if you don’t like my gate why did you swing on it, why didja swing on it anyhow—” And somehow anyhow swing— The phonographs of hades in the brain Are tunnels that re-wind themselves, and love A burnt match skating in a urinal— Somewhere above Fourteenth TAKE THE EXPRESS To brush some new presentiment of pain— city urban “But I want service in this office SERVICE I said—after the show she cried a little afterwards but—” Whose head is swinging from the swollen strap? Whose body smokes along the bitten rails, Bursts from a smoldering bundle far behind In back forks of the chasms of the brain,— Puffs from a riven stump far out behind In interborough fissures of the mind...? And why do I often meet your visage here, Your eyes like agate lanterns—on and on Below the toothpaste and the dandruff ads? —And did their riding eyes right through your side, And did their eyes like unwashed platters ride? And Death, aloft,—gigantically down Probing through you—toward me, O evermore! And when they dragged your retching flesh, Your trembling hands that night through Baltimore— That last night on the ballot rounds, did you Shaking, did you deny the ticket, Poe? infrastructure intertext train For Gravesend Manor change at Chambers Street. The platform hurries along to a dead stop. The intent escalator lifts a serenade Stilly Of shoes, umbrellas, each eye attending its shoe, then Bolting outright somewhere above where streets Burst suddenly in rain.... The gongs recur: Elbows and levers, guard and hissing door. Thunder is galvothermic here below.... The car Wheels off. The train rounds, bending to a scream, Taking the final level for the dive Under the river— And somewhat emptier than before, Demented, for a hitching second, humps; then Lets go.... Toward corners of the floor Newspapers wing, revolve and wing. Blank windows gargle signals through the roar. rain thunder train sound And does the Daemon take you home, also, Wop washerwoman, with the bandaged hair? After the corridors are swept, the cuspidors— The gaunt sky-barracks cleanly now, and bare, O Genoese, do you bring mother eyes and hands Back home to children and to golden hair? Daemon, demurring and eventful yawn! Whose hideous laughter is a bellows mirth —Or the muffled slaughter of a day in birth— O cruelly to inoculate the brinking dawn With antennae toward worlds that glow and sink;— To spoon us out more liquid than the dim Locution of the eldest star, and pack The conscience navelled in the plunging wind, Umbilical to call—and straightway die! O caught like pennies beneath soot and steam, Kiss of our agony thou gatherest; Condensed, thou takest all—shrill ganglia Impassioned with some song we fail to keep. And yet, like Lazarus, to feel the slope, The sod and billow breaking,—lifting ground, —A sound of waters bending astride the sky Unceasing with some Word that will not die...! A tugboat, wheezing wreaths of steam, Lunged past, with one galvanic blare stove up the River. I counted the echoes assembling, one after one, Searching, thumbing the midnight on the piers. Lights, coasting, left the oily tympanum of waters; The blackness somewhere gouged glass on a sky. And this thy harbor, O my City, I have driven under, Tossed from the coil of ticking towers.... Tomorrow, And to be.... Hereby the River that is East— Here at the waters’ edge the hands drop memory; Shadowless in that abyss they unaccounting lie. How far away the star has pooled the sea— Or shall the hands be drawn away, to die? boat city urban exhaust sound night river Kiss of our agony Thou gatherest, O Hand of Fire gatherest—  
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