NEW YORK
(from the book “America! America?” copyright 2003, 2005)
The liner Rhyndam docked in Hoboken, N.J. Customs and immigration formalities took time, but were no problem. A bus took us through the Holland Tunnel to Manhattan. We were unloaded at the YMCA and the YWCA. A representative from the American Field
Service met us and asked us to come to the AFS offices that afternoon to check in. He provided the address: “It is easy. All the streets are numbered. Avenues run north and south up and down the island of Manhattan. Streets go east and west. You’ll have no problem finding us. See you later!”
We dumped our suitcases next to the beds that had been assigned to us and immediately went outside to experience New York: the city we had heard about, the city that seemed so incredibly large with buildings so high, they must enter heaven if there is one!
The fog was slowly lifting. A pinkish sun must have been somewhere in the sky, if one believed the lines and occasional spots of light illuminating the highest floors of giant buildings.
Crowds on the sidewalk, people pushing relentlessly past each other. Policemen whistling at passing cars. Yellow taxis fighting for lanes. Noise. More noise. More people. Everyone seemed rushing to go somewhere. How could there possibly be so many people? Were they just going back and forth, just to make the street look crowded? Of course not – but still, so it seemed to someone who had never seen such activity. We were overwhelmed!
Pigeons flying and running on the sidewalk among all the people. Children at play on doorsteps. Dirty pieces of paper sailing across the street, urged on by the drafts from passing cars. A lonely man who seemed to be dreaming of somewhere else. Music
emerging from a downstairs doorway. Color, color, color!
“Let’s take the subway! There is a subway entrance here!” We did, rode until the sign outside the car read “Broadway.” But when we got out, it was not the Broadway we expected. A quiet neighborhood by comparison to the noise we heard before cannot be that Broadway. So we rode back into Manhattan.
Again: noise, color, people and more people. Did all these people live here? Did all these people hear the noise, the honking of taxi horns, the whistles of the police? Did they see all the flashing colors; did they notice the difference between the beautifully dressed people and others who were walking in rags? If they lived here, did they truly live, experience? Did they
share their lives with others, even with only a few of those others who spent time on the same
sidewalk?
It was hard to imagine…….
Whirling colors,
Bright and blinding,
Soft and searching,
Weak and winding,
Dark denying,
Dimly dying –
Avenue East and Avenue West.
Stones and steel and stones and glass,
Stones and life and stones and time,
Stones and noise – and a bit of grass,
And a ray of sun on the shadowed way
And a rush of steps, and a new born day.
And the stones are climbing to reach the sky
And they shade the trees, and they break a leaf
And they hide the street with a child at play
And a stand with food, and a dog, a thief,
And the dirty paper that sails through air
And they hide the street with love’s despair.
And they nearly hide a bird in flight
That greets the newborn day with joy,
And a woman who listens, a man who cares,
And a little child with a brand new toy.
And a lot of music,
And beautiful dreams,
And a little girl
Full of naughty schemes,
And thoughts of a night
That was filled with delight.
And whirling colors,
Strong and winding,
Soft and soothing,
Bright and blinding.
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