The City Rises in Me
by Bill Yarrow
Cities! Cities! I have lived
in cities: habitual, arrogant
cities circumscribed by cities
on the alert for alacrity
filled with false vitality
rising revised out of history
burgeoning cities bloated
with stoic pride, notorious
for hope, filled with ethical travail.
These cities, yes, but also
cities reticent, inferential
embedded with desuetude.
A decade here, a decade there,
to what end? Position. Man needs
locus, not looseness, in his life.
What's a road? A swift excuse
for a city at each end. What is
not a city? Nothing.
Socrates lived in a city.
So did Meyer Lansky. The city
rose against them. That's what
cities do; they rise,
sometimes in us,
sometimes against us.
The city rises in me.
I hear it whisper.
I ignore its roar.
in cities: habitual, arrogant
cities circumscribed by cities
on the alert for alacrity
filled with false vitality
rising revised out of history
burgeoning cities bloated
with stoic pride, notorious
for hope, filled with ethical travail.
These cities, yes, but also
cities reticent, inferential
embedded with desuetude.
A decade here, a decade there,
to what end? Position. Man needs
locus, not looseness, in his life.
What's a road? A swift excuse
for a city at each end. What is
not a city? Nothing.
Socrates lived in a city.
So did Meyer Lansky. The city
rose against them. That's what
cities do; they rise,
sometimes in us,
sometimes against us.
The city rises in me.
I hear it whisper.
I ignore its roar.
"A swift excuse
for a city at each end."
Especially like this.
* Bill. Such a good poetic examination of cities. "Meyer Lansky" made me smile. I pulled this line off to keep.
A favorite:
"Man needs locus, not looseness, in his life".
* Cool! Reminded me almost of Walt Whitman, singing.
VERY early Bill (1970s). Product of my travelling days. Just took a while to make its way into print!
Thanks for reading and commenting, Gary, David, and Jerry.
Jerry--I may well have been reading Whitman at the time. Who can remember?
Socrates lived in a city.
So did Meyer Lansky.
Right, right.*
"These cities, yes, but also
cities reticent, inferential
embedded with desuetude." Had to look up "desuetude." Glad I did. Enjoyed.*
Excellent, to the point, evidently written by a city lover with a vein of golden ambivalence going straight through your heart.
Poems like this are the reason I became a writer.*
I remember Dickey's hero coming home from the wilds, taking off his shoes, and walking around with great pleasure on the carpet. Give me the burbs or the city proper; you can have the people with nine fingers. *
Yes *
Thanks, Steven, Gary, Marcus, Amanda, Jake, and Christian!
I've always thought of a city as a closed fist looking for a proper chin.
Your version makes sense to me.
James: "a closed fist looking for a proper chin"--your poem! Go for it!
Thanks!
Very emphatic slant about the city, quite interesting what you did here. *
Thank you, Brenda.
I love the last two lines. *
Thanks, Beate!