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I like December New-York by all soul’s fibres
Inspiration is hovering in the air
When holiday admiration is Christmas
And joy’s agitation is pleasant there.
The winter day’s so great in the Central Park
And almost for attire is its paradise.
They are playing country music as if Roy Clark
Were here with talented artists’ dozens.
Wonderful is always view in Fifth Avenue,
As is Holliwoods films were on farther.
And Daniel’s has so tasteful menu,
Thus the Big Apple is one big wonder.

Я так люблю декабрьский Нью-Йорк,
Ведь в воздухе витает вдохновенье,
Рождественский предпраздничный восторг
И радости приятное волненье!
Зимой прекрасен очень Central Park –
Природный рай почти для урбанистов!
Играют кантри будто сам Рой Кларк
Здесь дюжины талантливых артистов!
Чудесен вид на Пятой Авеню –
Как будто ты в кино из Голливуда!
Тут в Daniel’e вкусное меню –
Большое Яблоко – одно большое чудо!

Translator - I. Toporov
Tom Atkins May 6
It has been a year since you visited the city.
walked its streets with its crowds of infinite variety,
an anonymous soul elbow to elbow with strangers,
Faces and fashion and more than that, an energy
so unlike your sanctuary in far away Vermont.

You need this, every so often. It feeds you,
a reminder of the power of mass and masses,
your mind awash with the vast mix of America
all gathered in one place, dreams, and nightmares
and side hustles, a place of promise and fear,
everyone going somewhere, doing, reaching,
faces animated. There is purpose here, urgency,

a reminder

of what you fled, and why you come back,
grateful for your place of peace, but aware
that too much peace and you fall into rot,
that yours is a life barely in balance, a needful life,
needful less of things than places, experiences,
the soul of places and people unlike yourself.
like salt in the stew, it flavors you, always in danger
of too much or too little.

Here is the Hassidic Jew in his worn black coat and hat.
Here is the Puerto Rican girl, bright and loud.
Here are the suits,
the old Italian woman pulling her cart of groceries,
the tourists, the hustlers and homeless,
the old Russian men playing chess in the park,
The Arabs gathered for their thick black coffee,
Here are the hayseeds and vagabonds like me,
passing through, thieves of energy that no one misses.
There is more than enough to go around.

Here are carts of food and Gucci knock offs.
Of diners just outside theatres. Hotels
for the rich and poor sit side by side.
Crowds outside Penn Station, steady streams
rise and fall in and out of subway stations.
Water towers and gardens on the roofs.
Carts of clothes on racks roll by you as you walk.
Here are all the things you are not,
somehow becoming you. You should be lost here
but you never are, It feels like home. Not a place of peace,
but a place of constant becoming.
You smile when you are there, even if you leave exhausted.

It is your pilgrimage, Once, twice a year,
But not this year.
TH=he city has grown dark and dangerous.
Time Square is still full of billboards and video screens
and hardly a soul to see them.
We are warned away in this plague year,
the power of the place gone inside, waiting out death,
and you mourn the lost,
and you wonder,
when you can return, and how, and what will be left
for strangers like me.
I love New York City, and watching what they have gone through and are still going through, has been heartbreaking,
I love to sit down
in the pouring rain
watching people scurry along sidewalks
and the taxi cabs splashing water upon them
the twirling and spinning
of bouquets of umbrellas
filling the streets
with a rainbow
before the rain can make one
on its own
God's most beautiful works of art
Are those he allowed man to touch with his bare hands
Man, with his steady hand and brilliant mind, builds towers
Their awesome beauty spanning from the ground to the heavens
A bridge between Heaven and Earth; a connection between God and Man

The picturesque beauty of Manhattan:
crystal white clouds on a sky blue canvas
a background completed by staggering towers, defying all laws of gravity
making the world feel a little smaller in comparison
and the people, almost insignificant
Selina Lin Mar 28
I will miss the taste
of your grape sugar and
the shivers of your fingers
brushing over my skin
to adjust the camera
as the middle-aged uber driver
watches us vlogging “NY with Claire”
with a frown on his face
from the rearview mirror
while the city blurs
into a van Gogh painting
outside of the window and
the starry starry night
falls upon higher grounds
which eventually will lay the stars
at our feet and we will be bigger
than the entire state of New York
to the point where
when you reach for my hand
the streets will hold their ground
against a northerly wind
but before soon you will be gone and
the likely chances that we will meet again
will be a millenium to one and until then
I will wait until I can steal your gum again and
draw inside the wrapper
a little doodle of the two of us
but then I will scrunch it up and
throw it out behind your back
because it reminds me too much
of a love I once had
because I want to have
a unique space in my heart for you and
not for you to fill the unique space
that someone else once left behind
so I will hold tight to the polaroid
until the day fate brings up the idea
that we should meet again
under the lights of the Empire State
or the stairs in front of the Met
and if we met again today
I would have taken you out
on a proper date
even though you probably would have
preferred to drag me to
your brother's friend's sister's gallery
and suggest that we
make out in the bathroom
and I would have had to politely decline
because my lips would be chapped
from the cold
but however, I would gladly
take up the offer to hang out with you
and occasionally share some kisses
even though that would leave my lips
swollen when we leave
but how fun it would be
to explore the streets of New York
with you again.
Plus, I owe you one pack of fruit gum,
six hugs, and exactly one proper date.

All Love,
I realized that you left the polaroid that I had written my confession on in the back pocket of my jeans. I hope we'll meet up again soon.
Nely Mar 23
There's a time where children's laughter is carried by the pump's water.
Where the music floods all corners of nyc.
Where even the train is on beat.
The sun shines hardest in NYC.
You must excuse the radio silence,
"Necessity has me by the foot".
I question whether America hasn't fallen into timarchy;
The Titanpointe facility might be enough to convince me
the world's a stranger place at present.
We desperately need a method of politics
that depends on articulation rather than representation,
Something to foster a more intelligent society. I fear
strange and merciless times are upon us
which necessitate emissions control.
Long Lines Building
I think I’m too big for New York.
I can’t fit into its small spaces.

My world is so much bigger than this place

It will be time to leave soon.
From the overcrowded train cars
To the indifferent desperate distant eyes
Of every passerby
Cars bustling by the street corners
With nowhere to park
New York is not the place
For one to sit down
And just take in a view
And in this way
All things become fluid
They come in to our lives
And swiftly pass by
And if we get lucky
We can fix what has been broken
Or be another passing
Waiting for their time to go
And leave New York City
Marco Feb 12
Layers and layers and layers
of people, cars, buildings
the Big Apple
one giant parfait
loved by the rich
too expensive for the poor
a little for a lot
and the waiter smiles
fake and shallow
as he hands them the dessert
without them knowing he spat into it
and sprinkled it with the dust
of his bombed apartment on 64th
which lies in the past of another
another office
another yoga oasis
another Apple parfait
for the rich
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