Upon Finding A Book Of John Berryman Poems On A Street Corner Manhattan Lower East - A Shabbos Poem
for Gerald & Shirah Kober Zeller
'Lord, lord...why are our finest always dead? ' - Louis Zukovsky
from traffic onto street corner
2nd Ave and St. Marks now here
Berryman is lifted up from a corner
not yet 'spiffied' the works gummed
up literally spit out for years
countless Chicklets spat
2-per-box-a-nickle a lover's
quarrel with the shoe-and-should
what good come of the chewing
masses hurrying home or to ferry
over river/bay to old brick
even the convent on the hill
just up from the undocking
crowd is dark for want of mercy
two Hassids young bring candles for
Shabbas only a few hours till inflamed
prayer begins as strong sun sinks to night
prayer is oil the dead come home to
perhaps even in this cafe they
watch the books gather on the familiar
corner where shopkeepers' decades pass
hurry home before dark with candles
and cares, the wares of religion, the
Book & dream, a distant land made close
by old songs kindled, 'finest ones'
still kindred made the stronger by
fire and voices-one mingled with
Mendelssohn and the later oranges
this East Village once brined
now lost savor/salt an altogether
godless waste spreading over
once-was-more-temple than what
is now mere shopping-mall hype
ramparts lift by Chambers above
African graves, the slaves of
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poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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