from The Bridge: Cutty Sark

By Hart Crane 1899–1932 Hart Crane
I met a man in South Street, tall—
a nervous shark tooth swung on his chain.   
His eyes pressed through green glass   
—green glasses, or bar lights made them   
so—
      shine—
                GREEN—
                           eyes—
stepped out—forgot to look at you
or left you several blocks away—

in the nickel-in-the-slot piano jogged
“Stamboul Nights”—weaving somebody’s nickel—sang—

      O Stamboul Rose—dreams weave the rose!

            Murmurs of Leviathan he spoke,   
            and rum was Plato in our heads . . .

“It’s S.S. Ala—Antwerp—now remember kid   
to put me out at three she sails on time.   
I’m not much good at time any more keep
weakeyed watches sometimes snooze—” his bony hands   
got to beating time . . . “A whaler once—
I ought to keep time and get over it—I’m a   
Democrat—I know what time it is—No   
I don’t want to know what time it is—that   
damned white Arctic killed my time . . . ”

      O Stamboul Rose—drums weave—

“I ran a donkey engine down there on the Canal   
in Panama—got tired of that—
then Yucatan selling kitchenware—beads—
have you seen Popocatepetl—birdless mouth   
with ashes sifting down—?
                                          and then the coast again . . . ”

      Rose of Stamboul O coral Queen—
      teased remnants of the skeletons of cities—
      and galleries, galleries of watergutted lava   
      snarling stone—green—drums—drown—

Sing!
“—that spiracle!” he shot a finger out the door . . .   
"O life’s a geyser—beautiful—my lungs—
No—I can’t live on land—!"

I saw the frontiers gleaming of his mind;
or are there frontiers—running sands sometimes   
running sands—somewhere—sands running . . .
Or they may start some white machine that sings.   
Then you may laugh and dance the axletree—
steel—silver—kick the traces—and know—

      ATLANTIS ROSE drums wreathe the rose,   
      the star floats burning in a gulf of tears   
      and sleep another thousand—

                                              interminably
long since somebody’s nickel—stopped—
playing—

A wind worried those wicker-neat lapels, the   
swinging summer entrances to cooler hells . . .   
Outside a wharf truck nearly ran him down   
—he lunged up Bowery way while the dawn
was putting the Statue of Liberty out—that   
torch of hers you know—

I started walking home across the Bridge . . .

                  .         .         .         .         .         

Blithe Yankee vanities, turreted sprites, winged
                                           British repartees, skil-         
ful savage sea-girls            
that bloomed in the spring—Heave, weave
those bright designs the trade winds drive . . .

      Sweet opium and tea, Yo-ho!
      Pennies for porpoises that bank the keel!   
      Fins whip the breeze around Japan!

Bright skysails ticketing the Line, wink round the Horn   
to Frisco, Melbourne . . .
                                       Pennants, parabolas—
clipper dreams indelible and ranging,   
baronial white on lucky blue!

      Perennial-Cutty-trophied-Sark!

Thermopylae, Black Prince, Flying Cloud through Sunda   
—scarfed of foam, their bellies veered green esplanades,   
locked in wind-humors, ran their eastings down;

      at Java Head freshened the nip   
      (sweet opium and tea!)
      and turned and left us on the lee . . .

Buntlines tusseling (91 days, 20 hours and anchored!)   
                                                    Rainbow, Leander
(last trip a tragedy)—where can you be
Nimbus? and you rivals two—

            a long tack keeping—
                                           Taeping?   
                                          Ariel?

Hart Crane, "Cutty Sark" from The Complete Poems of Hart Crane, edited by Marc SImon. Copyright © 1933, 1958, 1966 by Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright © 1986 by Marc Simon. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing.

Source: Poetry (October 1927).

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This poem originally appeared in the October 1927 issue of Poetry magazine

October 1927
 Hart  Crane

Biography

Hart Crane is a legendary figure among American poets. In his personal life he showed little self-esteem, indulging in great and frequent bouts of alcohol abuse. In his art, however, he showed surprising optimism. Critics have contended that for Crane, misery and despair were redeemed through the apprehension of beauty, and in some of his greatest verses he articulated his own quest for redemption. He also believed strongly in . . .

Continue reading this biography

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT History & Politics, Seas, Rivers, & Streams, Nature, Social Commentaries

SCHOOL / PERIOD Modern

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