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For The Centennial Dinner

OF THE PROPRIETORS OF BOSTON PIER, OR THE LONG WHARF,
APRIL 16, 1873

DEAR friends, we are strangers; we never before
Have suspected what love to each other we bore;
But each of us all to his neighbor is dear,
Whose heart has a throb for our time-honored pier.

As I look on each brother proprietor's face,
I could open my arms in a loving embrace;
What wonder that feelings, undreamed of so long,
Should burst all at once in a blossom of song!

While I turn my fond glance on the monarch of piers,
Whose throne has stood firm through his eightscore of years,
My thought travels backward and reaches the day
When they drove the first pile on the edge of the bay.

See! The joiner, the shipwright, the smith from his forge,

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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Late March

Saturday morning in late March.
I was alone and took a long walk,
though I also carried a book
of the Alone, which companioned me.

The day was clear, unnaturally clear,
like a freshly wiped pane of glass,
a window over the water,
and blue, preternaturally blue,
like the sky in a Magritte painting,
and cold, vividly cold, so that
you could clap your hands and remember
winter, which had left a few moments ago—
if you strained you could almost see it
disappearing over the hills in a black parka.
Spring was coming but hadn't arrived yet.
I walked on the edge of the park.
The wind whispered a secret to the trees,
which held their breath
and scarcely moved.

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poem by Edward Hirsch
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Sandy

Sandy
the aurora is risin' behind us
Those pier lights
our carnival life forever
Oh
love me tonight for I may never see you again
Hey
Sandy girl
my baby.
Sandy
the fireworks are hailin' over Little Eden tonight
Forcin' a light into all those stoney faces
Left stranded on this warm July
And the boys from the casino dance with their shirts open
Like Latin lovers on the shore
Chasin' all them silly New York virgins by the score.
Sandy
the aurora is risin' behind us
Those pier lights
our carnival life forever

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song performed by Hollies
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4th Of July, Asbury Park

Sandy the fireworks are hailin' over little eden tonight
Forcin' a light into all those stoned-out faces left stranded
On this fourth of july
Down in town the circuit's full with switchblade lovers so fast
So shiny so sharp
And the wizards play down on pinball way on the boardwalk way past dark
And the boys from the casino dance with their shirts open like latin
Lovers along the shore
Chasin' all them silly new york girls
Sandy the aurora is risin' behind us, the pier lights our carnival
Life forever
Love me tonight for i may never see you again, hey sandy girl
Now the greasers they tramp the streets or get busted for trying to
Sleep on the beach all night
Them boys in their spiked high heels ah sandy their skins are so white
And me i just got tired of hangin' in them dusty arcades bangin' them
Pleasure machines
Chasin' the factory girls underneath the boardwalk where they promise
To unsnap their jeans
And you know that tilt-a-whirl down on the south beach drag

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song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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Sandy

Bruce Springsteen)
Sandy, the fireworks are hailin' over Little Eden tonight
Forcin' a light into all those stoney faces left stranded on this warm July
own in town the circuit's full of switchblade lovers, so fast, so shiney,
so sharp
As the wizards play down on Pinball Way on the boardwalk way past dark
And the boys from the casino dance with their shirts open like Latin lovers
on the
shore
Chasin' all them silly New York virgins by the score
Sandy, the aurora is risin' behind us
Those pier lights, our carnival life forever
Oh, love me tonight, for I may never see you again
Hey, Sady girl, my baby
Now, the greasers, they tramp the streets or get busted for sleepin' on the
beach all
night
Them boys in their high heels, ah, Sandy, their skins are so white
And me, I just got tired of hangin' in them dust arcades, bangin' them
pleasure

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song performed by Air Supply
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An Athenian Reverie

How the returning days, one after one,
Came ever in their rhythmic round, unchanged,
Yet from each looped robe for every man
Some new thing falls. Happy is he
Who fronts them without fear, and like the gods
Looks out unanxiously on each day's gift
With calmly curious eye. How many things
Even in a little space, both good and ill,
Have fallen on me, and yet in all of them
The keen experience or the smooth remembrance
Hath found some sweet. It scarcely seems a month
Since we saw Crete; so swiftly sped the days,
Borne onward with how many changing scenes,
Filled with how many crowding memories.
Not soon shall I forget them, the stout ship,
All the tense labour with the windy sea,
The cloud-wrapped heights of Crete, beheld far off,
And white Cytaeon with its stormy pier,
The fruitful valleys, the wild mountain road,
And those long days of ever-vigilant toil,

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poem by Archibald Lampman
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Storm at Sausalito

Sailboats lashed to the pier,
ebon masts, dark trees bare
with tightly shrouded canvas sail,
rigging singing in the gale,
pier groaning, grey waves grind
clinging sloops to taut lines,
steel bulwarks rise and fall
against gleaming, cool jetty walls.

poem by Steven Federle
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Sad Moonlit Night

Drat that snatch-thief dog,
He howls at the moon from the rotting pier.
When the soul pricks up its ears,
It hears the shrill girls choiring,
Choiring
With their gloomy voices,
By the somber stone wall out at the pier.

Why is it always this way
with me?
Listen, you dog, you.
Tell me, you pale-blue, unhappy dog, you.

poem by Sakutaro Hagiwara
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Losing Track

Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:

you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way

a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?

and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the

tide swings you away before
I know I'm
alone again long since,

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poem by Denise Levertov
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Graceful Pillar

Grace has a pillar of obvious concentration,
Of stone it is built, of a soul and mind it stored.
Grace may live among houses
Where the pier of gratitude is,
Everywhere goes the sea of thankful grace.

Grace has a stationary title of sun and star,
Of goggles the eyes of grace do speak,
Hated is a craving for height, of weight, of general size.
Grace may be open like a shop,
Or the pier of handsome repose is taken by waves
To be eroded and expelled from the land and sea.

poem by Naveed Akram
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