I wrote this around this time (well, the cusp of Spring) a few years ago now, reflecting on my New York years, so thought it'd be apropos to remember it today. On a whim (and to test out my brand new MacBook at the time), I recorded it in 2015. As you can hear from the track, I'd just gotten my voice back after losing it, and thought it sounded interesting (our past selves can be really amusing).
Here it is.
ANOTHER PACE
(or Ode to New York)
City of shadows casting light where it wills,
Offering a flash of consolation as winter wanes.
And the days, beginning and ending in darkness
For so many, the many who work,
Grow shorter with the hope of spring.
Courier bikes brushing death in the wind,
Yellow-streamed streets as taxis flood with the rain.
You run to get out of the rain and into a cab,
Speeding, silent, in the broad, dense stream
To pulse along Fifth as the Park’s finches sing.
Natural things laid waste in the stone,
But beauty beheld in wrought iron and slate,
In limestone facades and sidewalk cafes,
Make up for what was lost to the heiress’s pen,
And the city of shadows bursts into light again.
River of traffic flanked by men streaming
The island’s avenues northward-bound;
Southern winds blowing from the Bridge and Canal.
Life abounding: yet at what pace, and whose?
Privacy in public, unlocked by the voice and touch of a friend.
No shadow without sun, no forever in sand,
Like the necessary tension of a violin’s string.
Natural but uneasy balance of sombra y sol;
By nature essential, of nature primordial,
This rise and fall of culture’s unpredictable strength.
Chatter, engines, sirens batter your sense of sound,
Colors splashed across Times Square, the lights of Broadway
Soak at once through those windows to your soul.
Your steps are quick, Manhattanite, and yet,
Within your spirit’s silent core is a centered, living will.
© Michelle Datiles
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