MANHATTAN LIGHTS

MANHATTAN

Out of the night you burn, Manhattan, In a vesture of gold-- Span of innumerable arcs, Flaring and multiplying-- Gold at the uttermost circles fading Into the tenderest hint of jade, Or fusing in tremulous twilight blues, Robing the far-flung offices, Scintillant-storied, forking flame, Or soaring to luminous amethyst Over the steeples aureoled--

Diaphanous gold, Veiling the Woolworth, argently Rising slender and stark Mellifluous-shrill as a vender's cry, And towers squatting graven and cold On the velvet bales of the dark, And the Singer's appraising Indolent idol's eye, And night like a purple cloth unrolled--

Nebulous gold Throwing an ephemeral glory about life's vanishing points, Wherein you burn...

You of unknown voltage Whirling on your axis...

Scrawling vermillion signatures Over the night's velvet h.o.a.rding...

Insolent, towering spherical To apices ever shifting.

BROADWAY

Light!

Innumerable ions of light, Kindling, irradiating, All to their foci tending...

Light that jingles like anklet chains On bevies of little lithe twinkling feet, Or clingles in myriad vibrations Like trillions of porcelain Vases shattering...

Light over the laminae of roofs, Diffusing in shimmering nebulae About the night's boundaries, Or billowing in pearly foam Submerging the low-lying stars...

Light for the feast prolonged-- Captive light in the goblets quivering...

Sparks evanescent Struck of meeting looks-- Fringed eyelids leashing Sheathed and leaping lights...

Infinite bubbles of light Bursting, reforming...

Silvery filings of light Incessantly falling...

Scintillant, sided dust of light Out of the white flares of Broadway-- Like a great spurious diamond In the night's corsage faceted...

Broadway, In ambuscades of light, Drawing the charmed mult.i.tudes With the slow suction of her breath-- Dangling her naked soul Behind the blinding gold of eunuch lights That wind about her like a bodyguard.

Or like a huge serpent, iridescent-scaled, Trailing her coruscating length Over the night prostrate-- Triumphant poised, Her hydra heads above the avenues, Values appraising And her avid eyes Glistening with eternal watchfulness...

Broadway-- Out of her towers rampant, Like an unsubtle courtezan Reserving nought for some adventurous night.

FLOTSAM

Cra.s.s rays streaming from the vestibules; Cafes glittering like jeweled teeth; High-flung signs Blinking yellow phosph.o.r.escent eyes; Girls in black Circling monotonously About the orange lights...

Nothing to guess at...

Save the darkness above Crouching like a great cat.

In the dim-lit square, Where dishevelled trees Tustle with the wind--the wind like a scythe Mowing their last leaves-- Arcs shimmering through a greenish haze-- Pale oval arcs Like ailing virgins, Each out of a halo circ.u.mscribed, Pallidly staring...

Figures drift upon the benches With no more rustle than a dropped leaf settling-- Slovenly figures like untied parcels, And papers wrapped about their knees Huddled one to the other, Cringing to the wind-- The sided wind, Leaving no breach untried...

So many and all so still...

The fountain s...o...b..ring its stone basin Is louder than They-- Flotsam of the five oceans Here on this raft of the world.

This old man's head Has found a woman's shoulder.

The wind juggles with her shawl That flaps about them like a sail, And splashes her red faded hair Over the salt stubble of his chin.

A light foam is on his lips, As though dreams surged in him Breaking and ebbing away...

And the bare boughs shuffle above him And the twigs rattle like dice...

She--diffused like a broken beetle-- Sprawls without grace, Her face gray as asphalt, Her jaws sagging as on loosened hinges...

Shadows ply about her mouth-- Nimble shadows out of the jigging tree, That dances above her its dance of dry bones.

II

A uniformed front, Paunched; A glance like a blow, The swing of an arm, Verved, vigorous; Boot-heels clanking In metallic rhythm; The blows of a baton, Quick, staccato...

--There is a rustling along the benches As of dried leaves raked over...

And the old man lifts a shaking palsied hand, Tucking the displaced paper about his knees.

Colder...

And a frost under foot, Acid, corroding, Eating through worn bootsoles.

Drab forms blur into greenish vapor.

Through boughs like cross-bones, Pale arcs flare and shiver Like lilies in a wind.

High over Broadway A far-flung sign Glitters in indigo darkness And spurts again rhythmically, Spraying great drops Red as a hemorrhage.

SPRING

A spring wind on the Bowery, Blowing the fluff of night shelters Off bedraggled garments, And agitating the gutters, that eject little spirals of vapor Like lewd growths.

Bare-legged children stamp in the puddles, splashing each other, One--with a choir-boy's face Twits me as I pa.s.s...

The word, like a muddied drop, Seems to roll over and not out of The bowed lips, Yet dewy red And sweetly immature.

People sniff the air with an upward look-- Even the mite of a girl Who never plays...

Her mother smiles at her With eyes like vacant lots r.i.m.m.i.n.g vistas of mean streets And endless washing days...

Yet with sun on the lines And a drying breeze.

The old candy woman Shivers in the young wind.

Her eyes--littered with memories Like ancient garrets, Or dusty unaired rooms where someone died-- Ask nothing of the spring.

But a pale pink dream Trembles about this young girl's body, Draping it like a glowing aura.

She gloats in a mirror Over her gaudy hat, With its flower G.o.d never thought of...

And the dream, unrestrained, Floats about the loins of a soldier, Where it quivers a moment, Warming to a crimson Like the scarf of a toreador...

But the delicate gossamer breaks at his contact And recoils to her in strands of shattered rose.

BOWERY AFTERNOON

Drab discoloration Of faces, facades, p.a.w.n-shops, Second-hand clothing, Smoky and fly-blown gla.s.s of lunch-rooms, Odors of rancid life...

Deadly uniformity Of eyes and windows Alike devoid of light...

Holes wherein life scratches-- Mangy life Nosing to the gutter's end...