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Oh, Ghingeli, my bleeding heart,
Who is this guy who dreams in snow
And drags his feet like a pair of logs
In the middle of the street at night?
It is the rascal Moyshe-Leyb,
Who will freeze to…
The avenue of willows leads nowhere:
it begins at the blank wall of a new apartment house
and ends in the middle of a lot for sale.
Papers and cans are thrown about the trees.
The disorder does not…
Into its own gold, the evening melted.
Bullet laughed midair across to bullet.
Colossal city fought with city, giants—
The sky disintegrated in red fragments.
Hatless, soldiers fly across the…
How does it look, the yellow patch
With a red or black Star-of-David
On the arm of a Jew in Naziland—
Against the white ground of a December snow?
How would it look, a yellow patch
With a red or…
In the Bronx, in Brooklyn and in New York City,
My cousins all have stores.
Seven cousins with seven stores, like commandments.
Business people with long lists of going bankrupt.
And my family-name…
A book in my hand. The steam
Of the radiator on my brows.
There’s a light rain outside.
I’m sleepy. I almost drift off.
I’m sleepy. People speaking,
As through a canvas, monotone.
A young man…
An infinite weariness comes into the faces of the old tenements,
As they stand massed together on the block,
Tall and thoughtful silent,
In the enveloping twilight.
Pensively,
They eye each other…
A wall.
A blunt wall of human backs, arms, legs.
A gray bulwark with white round stains.
A defeated army in a cave, before maneuvers,
Waiting for doors to open.
Not cages unlatched, in uproar.
No…
The towering life of the towering city
Is burning in white fires.
And in the streets of the Jewish East side
The whiteness of the fires burns even whiter.
I like to stroll in the burning frenzy of…
For H. Leyvik
New York.
A white poet stood on the hundred-and-fourth floor.
The sky and an iron city
Engaged in a conversation.
A thirsty “forever” marched on
In bewildered
Disorganization.
New York…