I just found these poems, thought someone might enjoy them ...
Saturday Evening Post - March 21, 1931
New York is a nice place to live in,
but an awful place to visit
- Arthur Guiterman
Beside my hearth, among my books,
Enthroned on this eleventh story,
I sit and think how lovely looks
My brilliant town in all its glory.
My town ! Its best is mine to use,
And as I will. I gaze in pity
On visitors who always choose
The dregs of this enchanted city.
They seek, and what they seek they find –
Excitement, hurry, noise and riot –
They miss its fruits of heart and mind,
Its wells of friendship, joy and quiet.
They rush wherever lamps are bright,
They squander wealth – and wherefore should one ? –
To see a bad show every night,
Where once a week I see a good one.
They dread – and why, I comprehend –
At every turn some base contriver,
But that policeman is my friend
And so is yonder taxi driver.
Poor wanderers from South and West,
Seattle, Baraboo and Austin,
Through city craft, by you unguessed,
I thread the maze that you are lost in.
It does not give me pain to hear
My neighbor speaking Dutch or Persian,
A subway crush I do not fear,
And dodging cars is my diversion.
And here are towers begemmed and pearled
And noble works - when we complete them –
And folk with brains from all the world
And opportunities to meet them.
Here you may dwell immerse in strife
Or else remote as if on Saturn,
For no one need to shape his life
On any arbitraty pattern.
So, visitors from every place,
Pursue your course the way you planned it,
And set yourselves a frightful pace
And wonder how New Yorkers stand it !
Like water bugs, I see you dart
A frenzied mob of wine uncorkers,
And pity you with all my heart
Because you’ll never be New Yorkers !
Saturday Evening Post – March 21, 1931
New York is a nice place to visit,
but an awful place to live in
- Margaret Fishback (Antolini)
High in my snug hotel retreat
I loll, as on a bed of roses,
Convinced that nothing can compete
With Gotham, quaffed in modest doses.
The crowds, the subways, and the noise,
As novelties, are quite delightful,
But how they pall, these urban joys,
With each succeeding day and nightful.
And how they accentuate
The pleasured of a life bucolic,
How kind and merciful is Fate
That I can stay awhile and frolic,
And yet regain my rustic peace
As soon as ever I’d achieve it,
That I may caper at my ease
And either take New York or leave it.
No need for me to shudder at
The pictures in the News or Graphic,
I can abandon things like that
Along with all the frenzied traffic.
Nor do I have to be impressed
And know who’s who among the local
Celebrities, for I am blessed
By being a determined yokel.
I can return to normalcy
The minute my vacation’s over,
I can go home, refreshed, but free
To live another year in clover.
I can retreat when I have had
Enough excitement here to last me
And make me permanently glad
That lots of Gotham life goes past me.
Oh, I am here ! But not to stay !
For I’ll revert to sun and flowers
When I’ve enjoyed my holidays
Among Manhattan’s shining towers.
No ! Never would I settle down
On this enchanted isle. What is it
For those who make their homes in town
But just a place for friends to visit ?
So as I rest in my hotel
My heart goes out in throbbing pity
For those who must forever dwell
In such a mad, beleaguered city.
(actually Fishback lived in New York at the time !)
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 07/21/2005 08:38AM by ilza.
I thoroughly did ! Thanks !~