Ars Brevis
Gary Beck
Culture clutchers
can no longer sustain themselves
against the rude assault
of omnipresent rap.
Practitioners of the monotonous beat
are far too aggressive
for the fragile followers
of the more delicate arts.
The future of ballet, drama, painting
will ultimately be decided
by the raucousness
of street performers.
Survival Strain
Gary Beck
Hastening birth to death
dream city of dangerous dawns,
corpse of ceremonies
dropped from sooty womb,
nourished on cracked streets and crumbling subways,
nurtured by sirens and unanswered pleas for help.
Your sons and daughters are citizens of suspicion,
whose midnights have no more enchantment,
whose faces are birds of apprehension
singing no more songs of morning.
Weary Road
Gary Beck
I have traveled far,
a rootless wanderer
singing the praises of man,
mouthing the phrases of fools.
Ruled by the hand of dawn,
city, your shadows are silence
that lead me to desolate roads,
with no end to journies.
At night the stars surrender
to your shattering glare, city,
that winks in flirting allure
and urges me on to Babylon.
Visions of New York City
Gary Beck
Visions of New York City
Gary Beck
The wind blew down chimneys,
an animal howl
serenading an old crone’s dreams.
Tenements are stooped old men, faces sagging.
Ragpicker limping,
gunnysack full of treasure.
A thousand children
lie in rotting bananas,
they never saw the sun.
Santa comes on spider tendrils
afraid to stir the east side soot.
Mrs. Lopez lifts her window,
Santa never visits her,
She always smells of wine.
A headless snowman sheds hot tears
that burn tiny holes in his chest.
Last scurry
and Christmas slinks off with speckled rats.What is a final dream,
the last vision before panthers?
An old man plays an older fiddle,
gathering pennies.
In the summer,
naked and full of curses,
children open fire hydrants on the lower east side.Captain Lewis, officer and gentleman,
runs the Salvation Army mission on the Bowery.
The bums listen to preaching
to get hot soup.
Hermano Lopez waits on line at the relief office.
The woman with the moustache is there today.
She always asks why he can’t speak English.
He would spit on her, but his family would starve.After the novena the worshippers have a festival
on narrow streets lined with enticements.
Girls are pinched from booth to booth.
Four Italians beat up a Puerto Rican.
A drunk is dragged into a doorway and robbed.
Everyone loses money at the games of chance,
the saint has blessed the wheel.
The evening gets tired
and decides to go home.
A good time was had by some.