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 from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and
     steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid founded,
Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender,
     strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
     the flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger
     adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters,
     the ferry-boats , the black sea-steamers well-model'd,
The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business,
     the houses of business of the ship-merchants and
     money-brokers, the river-streets,
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week,
The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses,
     the brown-faced sailors,
The summer air, the bright sun shinning, and the sailing clouds
     aloft,
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river,
     passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd
     beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes,
Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the
     shops and shows,
A million people – manners free and superb – open voices –
     hospitality – the most courageous and friendly young men,
City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays! my city!

                                                                           Walt Whitman (1860)

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When the night begins to fall
And the sky begins to glow
You look up and see the tall
City of light begin to grow!
In rows and little golden squares
The lights come out. First here, then there
Behind the windowpanes as though
A million billion bees had built
Their golden hives and honeycombs
Above you in the air.

                                    Mary Britton Miller (1958)

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That May morning – very early –
As I walked the city street,
Not a single store was open
Any customers to greet.

That May morning – it was early –
As I walked the avenue,
I could stop & stare and window-shop,
And hear the pigeon's coo.

Early, early that May morning
I could skip and jump and run.
And make shadows on the sidewalk,
Not disturbing anyone.

All the windows, all the lamp posts,
Every leaf on every tree
That was growing through the sidewalk
Seemed to be there just for me.

                                  Leland B. Jacobs (1969)

The people upstairs all practice ballet.
Their living room is a bowling alley.
Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.
Their radio is louder than yours.
They celebrate weekends all the week.
When they take a shower, your ceilings leak.
They try to get their parties to mix
By supplying their guests with pogo sticks,
And when their orgy at last abates,
They go to the bathroom on roller skates.
I might love the people upstairs wondrous
If instead of above us, they just lived under us.

                                                     Ogden Nash (1949)

One wall
a door,
the
others
bare;
no
window,
table,
picture,
chair;
a gloomy,
tomb-like
room,
and
small –
no larger
than
a
shower
stall.

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more.
or
away
feet
ninety
later
moment
just a
exit
and
door
single
its
through
Enter
elevator.
the
room
odd a
How

        Sylvia Cassedy (1987)

They're building a skyscraper
Near our street.
It's height will be nearly
One thousand feet.

It covers completely
A city block.
They drilled it's foundation
through solid rock

They made its framework
Of great steel beams
With riveted joints
And welded seams.

A swarm of workmen
Strain and strive
Like busy bees
In a honeyed hive.

Building the skyscraper
Into the air
While crowds of people
Stand and stare.

Higher and higher
The tall towers rise
Like Jacobs ladder
Into the skies.

                             James S. Tippett (1930)

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A side walk is a wide walk
A let's-step-out-and-stride-walk
A two-abreast-let's-glide-walk
An arm-in-arm-let's-talk-walk
A pigeons-and-a-bug-walk
A-shoulder-hugging-snug-walk
A-hot-dog-and-balloon-walk
An-under-sun-and-moon-walk
A-grass-grows-in-the-crack-walk
A-rainy-day-wet-track-walk
A place where you and I walk
And talk and talk and talk.

                              Patricia Hubbell (1988)

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Vulgar of manner, overfed,
Overdressed and underbred,
Heartless, Godless, hell's delight,
Rude by day and lewd by night;
Bedwarfed the man, overgrown the brute
Ruled by boss and prostitute;
Purple-robed and pauper-clad,
Raving, rotting, money-mad;
A squirming herd in Mammon's mesh
A wilderness of human flesh;
Crazed by avarice, lust and rum,
New York, thy name's "Delirium."

                               Byron Rufus Newton (date unknown)

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Let some sad trumpeter
stand on the empty streets at dawn
and blow a silver chorus to the
buildings of Times Square,
memorial of ten years, at 5 A.M.,
with the thin white moon just visible
above the green & crooking
McGraw Hill Offices
a cop walks by, but he's invisible
with his music

                                 Allen Ginberg (1958)

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from
Manhattan

We'll have Manhattan,
The Bronx and Staten
Island too.
It's lovely going through
The zoo.
It's very fancy
On old Delancey Street,
you know.
The subway charms us so
When balmy breezes blow
To and fro. And tell me what street
Compares with Mott Street
In July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gliding by.
The great big city's a wondrous toy
Just made for a girl and boy.
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy.

                               Lorenz Hart (1895-1943)

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