I was unexpectedly obliged to spend several weeks of July in upper Manhattan. It was a scorching, humid stretch of time, the sidewalks shimmering under an unrelenting sun. The city tends to absorb heat, like the black clothing preferred by so many of its stylish denizens, adding to the uneasy sense that the whole place might self-combust at any moment. It finally did one night when a gargantuan storm swept through, thunder and lightning ricocheting from river to river, followed by an epic downpour that set off a geyser in the subways and fatally flooded parts of New Jersey. Still, in a city of ceaseless noise and movement, you can always find little pockets of beauty. Like the latana in the photo above that blanketed a tree bed near Riverside Park – each flower aswirl with brilliant hues and delicate shapes, thriving despite the grime and dogs and heat.
Morningside Heights, July
By William Matthews
Haze. Three student violists boarding
a bus. A clatter of jackhammers.
Granular light. A film of sweat for primer
and the heat for a coat of paint.
A man and a woman on a bench:
she tells him he must be psychic,
for how else could he sense, even before she knew,
that she’d need to call it off? A bicyclist
fumes by with a coach’s whistle clamped
hard between his teeth, shrilling like a teakettle
on the boil. I never meant, she says.
But I thought, he replies. Two cabs almost
collide; someone yells fuck in Farsi.
I’m sorry, she says. The comforts
of loneliness fall in like a bad platoon.
The sky blurs—there’s a storm coming
up or down. A lank cat slinks liquidly
around a corner. How familiar
it feels to feel strange, hollower
than a bassoon. A rill of chill air
in the leaves. A car alarm. Hail.
Great poem , new to me. It captures much about life in a big city.
I always found NYC fascinating (living my first 32 years of life in southern Connecticut) but now after living in Maine many years (although in a small city), I would find much in NYC difficult. Too noisy and too many people as I appreciate peace more and more…as I age, and in these tumultuous times. I suppose that is a common response.
I always love finding bits of beauty and nature in a city.
Thanks, Cheryl.
Nostalgic and then the reality of city life sets in noise people cars sirens but then there is the park where Luce can slowdown I will always love NYC but I prefer my quiet life here in Bryn Athyn Pennsylvania
Love them not sent before
I understand completely, Gwen, especially in the heat of the summer.
Though this doesn’t sound like the comfortable stretch in the city, the overall impact of this post and poem make me miss the city. Even in its most clamorous, New York’s beauty from flowers like this to the noises and smells of Upper Broadway are so memorable for us who do t get there enough.
There’s a certain summer smell in the city — a mix of coffee and subway fumes and sweat — that always takes me back to my first summer there.
It takes some practice and patience to tune into the underlying essence of city life. It’s the bits of conversation and emotion with layers of endless humanity and also nature, as captured in this poem. If you can be open to it, it’s like those advent calendars that have little surprises every time you lift the new day. My husbands out watering his patch of city garden right now and it’s spectacular! Thanks Liza. You see beauty and kind find the perfect poem wherever you are…
So well put, Em. Thank you.
Great post; great poem. =p.
Thank you for reminding me of how much I love the poetry of William Matthews. And for finding the beauty in the midst of clamor and chaos and noise. That photograph says it all, each tiny flower demanding your complete attention to take you away from whatever is bugging you at that moment.
Thanks, Phyllis!
Yes, I love his poetry, too. So sorry he’s been disappeared!
I am in love with this poem. My goodness!
I’m so glad, Molly. Thank you!