Santa Fe In Winter

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1. The Santa-Fe Trail (A Humoresque) I asked the old Negro, “What is that bird that sings so well?” He answered: “That is the Rachel-Jane.” “Hasn’t it another name, lark, or thrush, or the like?” “No. Jus’ Rachel-Jane.” I. IN WHICH A RACING AUTO COMES FROM THE EAST This is the order of the music of the morning: – First, from […]...
2. Impression Du Matin The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre-coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges, till the houses’ walls Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paul’s Loomed like a bubble o’er the town. Then suddenly arose […]...
3. City of Ships CITY of ships! (O the black ships! O the fierce ships! O the beautiful, sharp-bow’d steam-ships and sail-ships!) City of the world! (for all races are here; All the lands of the earth make contributions here;) City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides! City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling […]...
4. Blue Island Intersection SIX street ends come together here. They feed people and wagons into the center. In and out all day horses with thoughts of nose-bags, Men with shovels, women with baskets and baby buggies. Six ends of streets and no sleep for them all day. The people and wagons come and go, out and in. Triangles […]...
5. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
6. Night Movement-New York IN the night, when the sea-winds take the city in their arms, And cool the loud streets that kept their dust noon and afternoon; In the night, when the sea-birds call to the lights of the city, The lights that cut on the skyline their name of a city; In the night, when the trains […]...
7. Santa Claus in the Bush It chanced out back at the Christmas time, When the wheat was ripe and tall, A stranger rode to the farmer’s gate A sturdy man and a small. “Rin doon, rin doon, my little son Jack, And bid the stranger stay; And we’ll hae a crack for Auld Lang Syne, For the morn is Christmas […]...
8. Prospect NSW (For Anita Cobby) The hushed dark hugs the streets. Somewhere a cat snaps the silence. Dogs begin to bark, like a pack moving in for the kill. Women shrink in their homes. Shadows slip through the night and stars dim their lights as cars flash past. When they disappear, silence, heavy as hate, descends. Hours stretch like elastic […]...
9. The Sins of Kalamazoo THE SINS of Kalamazoo are neither scarlet nor crimson. The sins of Kalamazoo are a convict gray, a dishwater drab. And the people who sin the sins of Kalamazoo are neither scarlet nor crimson. They run to drabs and grays-and some of them sing they shall be washed whiter than snow-and some: We should worry. […]...
10. The Red Dance There was a girl Who danced in the city that night, That April 22nd, All along the Charles River. It was as if one hundred men were watching Or do I mean the one hundred eyes of God? The yellow patches in the sycamores Glowed like miniature flashlights. The shadows, the skin of them Were […]...
11. Against Winter The truth is dark under your eyelids. What are you going to do about it? The birds are silent; there’s no one to ask. All day long you’ll squint at the gray sky. When the wind blows you’ll shiver like straw. A meek little lamb you grew your wool Till they came after you with […]...
12. Eden in Winter [Supposed to be chanted to some rude instrument at a modern fireplace] Chant we the story now Tho’ in a house we sleep; Tho’ by a hearth of coals Vigil to-night we keep. Chant we the story now, Of the vague love we knew When I from out the sea Rose to the feet of […]...
13. Mannahatta I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name! Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient; I see that the word of my city is that word up there, Because I see that word nested in nests of […]...
14. The Death Of Santa Claus He’s had the chest pains for weeks, But doctors don’t make house Calls to the North Pole, He’s let his Blue Cross lapse, Blood tests make him faint, Hospital gown always flap Open, waiting rooms upset His stomach, and it’s only Indigestion anyway, he thinks, Until, feeding the reindeer, He feels as if a monster […]...
15. Doc Hill I went up and down the streets Here and there by day and night, Through all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick. Do you know why? My wife hated me, my son went to the dogs. And I turned to the people and poured out my love to them. Sweet […]...
16. The Winter Scene I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare woods, or the hardy bitter-sweet; Drivers have put their sheepskin jackets on; And all the ponds are sealed with sheeted ice That rings with stroke of skate and hockey-stick, Or in the twilight cracks with […]...
17. LETTER TO MICHAEL HOROVITZ It is time after thirty years We had our Poetry Renaissance Rise, Children of Albion, rise! It is time after nightmares of sleep When we walked the streets of inner cities Our poems among the burnt-out houses And cars, whispering compassion To the addicts shaking and the homeless Waking and those who have come apart […]...
18. Santa Claus “HALT! Who goes there?” The sentry’s call Rose on the midnight air Above the noises of the camp, The roll of wheels, the horses’ tramp. The challenge echoed over all – “Halt! Who goes there?” A quaint old figure clothed in white, He bore a staff of pine, An ivy-wreath was on his head. “Advance, […]...
19. Winter in the Country Sweet life! how lovely to be here And feel the soft sea-laden breeze Strike my flushed face, the spruce’s fair Free limbs to see, the lesser trees’ Bare hands to touch, the sparrow’s cheep To heed, and watch his nimble flight Above the short brown grass asleep. Love glorious in his friendly might, Music that […]...
20. Composed Upon Westminster Bridge Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, […]...
21. Woods in Winter When winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O’er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The […]...
22. The Boy Who Laughed At Santa Claus In Baltimore there lived a boy. He wasn’t anybody’s joy. Although his name was Jabez Dawes, His character was full of flaws. In school he never led his classes, He hid old ladies’ reading glasses, His mouth was open when he chewed, And elbows to the table glued. He stole the milk of hungry kittens, […]...
23. The City You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore, Find another city better than this one. Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong And my heart lies buried like something dead. How long can I let my mind moulder in this place? Wherever I turn, wherever I look, I […]...
24. The Voice Where is the distant voice That speaks like my soul? Buried beneath daylight’s clamor Gold and the seasons Beneath groaning streets And the ferment of cities In my grave of care And blond laughter In what bare tomb must I lie To summon the voice That speaks like my soul?...
25. As I Step Over A Puddle At The End Of Winter, I Think Of An Ancient Chinese Governor And how can I, born in evil days And fresh from failure, ask a kindness of Fate? Written A. D. 819 Po Chu-i, balding old politician, What’s the use? I think of you, Uneasily entering the gorges of the Yang-Tze, When you were being towed up the rapids Toward some political job or other In […]...
26. A Winter Daybreak Above Vence The night’s drifts Pile up below me and behind my back, Slide down the hill, rise again, and build Eerie little dunes on the roof of the house. In the valley below me, Miles between me and the town of St.-Jeannet, The road lamps glow. They are so cold, they might as well be dark. […]...
27. Walking Around It so happens I am sick of being a man. And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses Dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt Steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes. The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs. The only thing I want […]...
28. City of Orgies CITY of orgies, walks and joys! City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious, Not the pageants of you-not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles, repay me; Not the interminable rows of your houses-nor the ships at the wharves, Nor the processions in the streets, nor the […]...
29. Woolworth’s for Greg Fallon A kid yells “Mother Fucker” out the school bus window. I don’t think anyone notices the afternoon clouds turning pink along the horizon, Sunlight dripping down the stone facades, The ancient names of old stores fading like the last century Above the street, above the Spandex women who adjust their prize buttocks, […]...
30. Approach Of Winter The half-stripped trees Struck by a wind together, Bending all, The leaves flutter drily And refuse to let go Or driven like hail Stream bitterly out to one side And fall Where the salvias, hard carmine- Like no leaf that ever was – Edge the bare garden....
31. After the Winter Some day, when trees have shed their leaves And against the morning’s white The shivering birds beneath the eaves Have sheltered for the night, We’ll turn our faces southward, love, Toward the summer isle Where bamboos spire to shafted grove And wide-mouthed orchids smile. And we will seek the quiet hill Where towers the cotton […]...
32. To a Locomotive in Winter THEE for my recitative! Thee in the driving storm, even as now-the snow-the winter-day declining; Thee in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat convulsive; Thy black cylindric body, golden brass, and silvery steel; Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating, shuttling at thy sides; Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar-now […]...
33. Winter Song Rain and wind, and wind and rain. Will the Summer come again? Rain on houses, on the street, Wetting all the people’s feet, Though they run with might and main. Rain and wind, and wind and rain. Snow and sleet, and sleet and snow. Will the Winter never go? What do beggar children do With […]...
34. Santa Decca The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves! Demeter’s child no more hath tithe of sheaves, And in the noon the careless shepherds sing, For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning By secret glade and devious haunt is o’er: Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more; Great […]...
35. Ye Flags of Picadilly Ye flags of Piccadilly, Where I posted up and down, And wished myself so often Well away from you and town Are the people walking quietly And steady on their feet, Cabs and omnibuses plying Just as usual in the street? Do the houses look as upright As of old they used to be, And […]...
36. Winter Stores WE take from life one little share, And say that this shall be A space, redeemed from toil and care, From tears and sadness free. And, haply, Death unstrings his bow And Sorrow stands apart, And, for a little while, we know The sunshine of the heart. Existence seems a summer eve, Warm, soft, and […]...
37. This Today, my love, Leaves are thrashing the wind Just as pedestrians are erecting again the buildings of this drab Forbidding city, And our lives, as I lose track of them, Are the lives of others derailing in time and Getting things done. Impossible to make sense of any one face Or mouth, though Each distance […]...
38. Love Lies Sleeping Earliest morning, switching all the tracks That cross the sky from cinder star to star, coupling the ends of streets to trains of light. Now draw us into daylight in our beds; And clear away what presses on the brain: put out the neon shapes that float and swell and glare Down the gray avenue […]...
39. Winter Landscape The three men coming down the winter hill In brown, with tall poles and a pack of hounds At heel, through the arrangement of the trees, Past the five figures at the burning straw, Returning cold and silent to their town, Returning to the drifted snow, the rink Lively with children, to the older men, […]...
40. The Gardener XLII: O Mad, Superbly Drunk O mad, superbly drunk; If you kick open your doors and Play the fool in public; If you empty your bag in a night, And snap your fingers at prudence; If you walk in curious paths and Play with useless things; Reck not rhyme or reason; If unfurling your sails before the Storm you snap […]...