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from Cutty Sark
I met a man in South Street, tall— a nervous shark tooth swung on his chain. His eyes pressed through green glass —green glasses, or bar lights made them so— shine— GREEN— eyes— stepped out—forgot to look at you or left you several blocks away—
in the nickel-in-the-slot piano jogged “Stamboul Nights”—weaving somebody’s nickel—sang—
O Stamboul Rose—dreams weave the rose!
Murmurs of Leviathan he spoke, and rum was Plato in our heads …
—Hart Crane
January132011
In signature of the incarnate word
The harbor shoulders to resign in mingling
Mutual blood, transpiring as foreknown
And widening noon within your breast for gathering
All bright insinuations that my years have caught
For islands where must lead inviolably
Blue latitudes and levels of your eyes,-
In this expectant, still exclaim receive
The secret oar and petals of all love.
-Hart Crane, Voyages, 1926
January22011
