I never lived in a city they named twice, but I got the joke,
or took Lexington, or listened to Clinton Street all through the evening.
But I am the longshoreman. That renamed refugee,
the one with the dreams, you know, those dreams
I never walked those streets, but I know them—
the lesions of sidewalks, the huddled masses,
fire escapes curling like iron vertebrae,
ghosts of poets cough out prayers between drags of stolen cigarettes.
I have never felt the summer trash heat,
rising in waves off Avenue B like a fever dream,
but I hear it in the bassline of a Misfits song,
in the spit-flecked sermons of some East Village prophet
preaching from a milk crate throne.
I have never waited for a train in a tunnel breathing steam,
but I taste the rust, the rat-scuttled neon hum,
the graffitied whispers of kids who carved their names into history
with stolen markers and busted knuckles.
I have never seen the Bowery under wet lamplight,
but I have read the scripture of its ruin—
CBGB’s bathroom stall poetry, graffitied in piss and genius,
the leather-clad psalms of Patti and Richard,
a city scribbled on torn flyers and record sleeves.
I have never run my fingers along the scarred bar at Max’s Kansas City,
but I know the bloodshot art, the amphetamine-laced manifestos,
the queens and kings of gutter-glam anointing themselves
in sweat and spotlight and cheap gin.
And yet, in some other life, I might have stood there, but somehow,
it lingers on my skin like the aftertaste of something holy,
a church of distortion and desperation,
where the saints have safety pins through their lips
and the sinners sell dreams on St. Mark’s Place.
Somewhere, a television flickers static in a tenement window,
somewhere, a D’Angelico strikes out against the night,
somewhere, the city is still writing itself—
and I am still reading it,
never having been, yet always knowing.
Or maybe it read me.
-
Author:
A B (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 18th, 2025 06:11
- Comment from author about the poem: I just got to thinking that the New York City kind of belongs to all of us as we all take so many cultural references from it. So - it scratches the surface - but I thought I'd put some the ones I have taken out there. I hope you 'get' some of them... treat it as a challenge, a puzzle, if you will...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence, Cheeky Missy
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Comments5
Know the feeling. Visited for two weeks as a result of that pull. Not regretted.
If no one has already done so - welcome. Enjoy your stay at MPS. An interactive site, it works best when poets respond to other’s work and reply to commentary on their own poetry.
Thanks DD. I'll visit NYC before I die! TBH I've been a bit reluctant to comment on other work, not sure I have the skill to judge.
Can be about the issues (if any!)
Genius writing in this piece that pulls at the heart strings of any true American that remembers what it was founded for and that inscription of poetry by Emma Lazarus now resurrected in stone on the Statue of Liberty
"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Your poem evokes these thoughts now mere hypocritical echoes of a time past and a nation built on dreams ash.
Thanks for spotting the reference, it was *exactly* what I was thinking.
That is just a fantastic piece of writing, really enjoyed the read and will again later.
Thank you.
You are very welcome
Excellent write
What an incredible introduction to your ink .. I am so glad I stopped by .. write on my fine literary friend and welcome to MPS .. kindest regards and all good things .. Neville
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