We’ll have Manhattan
The Bronx and Staten
Island, too
It’s lovely going through
The zoo
It’s very fancy
On old Delancey
Street, you know
The subway charms us so
Where balmy breezes blow
To and fro
And tell me what street
Compares with Mott Street
In July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gliding by
The great big city’s a wondrous toy
Just made for a girl and boy
We’ll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy.
* * *
This column is a celebration of New York poetry, and whenever there’s a celebration in mind, the song writers are the first to get there. And no place inspires them more than New York City. The words above were written by Lorenz Hart, the music by Richard Rodgers.
Here’s another favorite New York song. Words and music by George M. Cohan from “Little Johnny Jones” 1904.
Give my regards to Broadway!
Remember me to Herald Square!
Tell all the gang at Forty Second Street
That I will soon be there!
Whisper of how I’m yearning
To mingle with the old time throng!
Give my regards to Old Broadway
And say that I’ll be there, ‘ere long!
* * *
The first Broadway musical I ever saw was composer Victor Herbert’s “The Red Mill” with this song: “The Streets of New York.” Lyrics by Henry Blossom.
In Old New York! In old New York!
The peach crop’s always fine!
They’re sweet and fair and on the square!
The maids of Manhattan for mine!
You cannot see in gay Paree,
In London or in Cork!
The queens you’ll meet on any street
In old New York!
* * *
* * *
This next verse is from the musical “On the Town” of 1944. Words by Betty Comden and Adolph Green. Music by Leonard Bernstein
New York, New York, a helluva town
The Bronx is up, but the Battery’s down
The people ride in a hole in the groun’
New York, New York, it’s a helluva town!
The famous places to visit are so many
Or so the guidebooks say
I promised Daddy I wouldn’t miss on any
And we have just one day
Got to see the whole town
From Yonkers on down to the Bay.
And finally, there is New York’s national anthem. From the film, “New York, New York.” Music by John Kander. Words by Fred Ebb. Imagine the singing of Liza Minnelli or Frank Sinatra..
Start spreadin’ the news, I’m leavin’ today
I want to be a part of it
New York, New York
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it
New York, New York
I wanna to wake up, in a city that doesn’t sleep
And find I’m king of the hill
Top of the heap
These little town blues
Are melting away
I’ll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to you, New York, New York!
* * *
So many great shows about New York.
But as I write this column, what is the longest-running show currently on Broadway?
Answer: “Chicago.”
Go figure!
* * *
To most people, the word Broadway suggests matinee idols and musical razzmatazz. But in her sonnet called “Broadway,” the poet Sara Teasdale, who lived in Manhattan, had a different take.
This is the quiet hour; the theaters
Have gathered in their crowds, and steadily
The million lights blaze on for few to see,
Robbing the sky of stars that should be hers.
A woman waits with bag and shabby furs,
A somber man drifts by, and only we
Pass up the street unwearied, warm and free,
For over us the olden magic stirs.
Beneath the liquid splendor of the lights
We live a little ere the charm is spent;
This night is ours, of all the golden nights,
The pavement an enchanted palace floor,
And Youth the player on the viol, who sent
A strain of music through an open door.
* * *
If you look for a little jazzier strain of music, come on up to Harlem where Langston Hughes composed a “Juke Box Love Song.”
I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem’s heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day—
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.
* * *
At various times a number of important poets have lived in New York City, including Edgar Allan Poe, Edna St. Vincent Millay and e.e. cummings.
But the grandfather of New York poetry and its greatest practitioner was Walt Whitman. He was raised in Brooklyn and for a time edited newspapers in Manhattan. Though he ultimately moved to New Jersey, he remained connected to New York throughout his life. In 1860 he wrote the poem “Mannahatta,” the name derived from the original Lenape word meaning “Island of many hills.” Here is how the poem opens.
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city
Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient,
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d,
* * *
Here is how Fifth Avenue looked in 1860, the year “Mannahatta” was written.
* * *
* * *
Incidentally, there is today a Mannahatta Park on Wall Street between Water and South Streets.
* * *
In addition to Broadway and show business, the names of some other New York streets have come to represent professions: Wall Street for finance,
Park Avenue for wealthy homes, and Madison Avenue for advertising and . . . Ogden Nash.
I sit in an office at 244 Madison Avenue
And say to myself You have a responsible job, havenue?
Why then do you fritter away your time on this doggerel?
If you have a sore throat you can cure it by using a good goggerel,
If you have a sore foot you can get it fixed by a chiropodist,
And you can get your original sin removed by St. John the Bopodist,
Why then should this flocculent lassitude be incurable?
Kansas City, Kansas, proves that even Kansas City needn’t always
be Missourible.
Up up my soul! This inaction is abominable.
The pilgrims settled Massachusetts in 1620 when they landed on a
stone hummock.
Maybe if they were here now they would settle my stomach.
Oh, if I only had the wings of a bird
Instead of being confined on Madison Avenue I could soar in a
jiffy to Second or Third.
* * *
And where to live in New York? We all have our favorite neighborhoods in our favorite boroughs. Dorothy Fields likes the idea of an apartment near Central Park. And why? Well, because
It’s the big backyard of the city,
It’s a great new lawn with a tree,
And a dark green lake you can row on
For a small and modest fee.
You can view New York from a hilltop,
Every side street and boulevard.
It’s great to live in the town between the rivers
Near that big backyard.
* * *
* * *
Perhaps my favorite New York poem is by the wonderful Nikki Giovanni. She is one of most decorated of modern poets. She holds 27 honorary degrees; and nearly as many cities, including New York, have awarded her with Keys to the City. This is called “Just a New York Poem.”
i wanted to take
your hand and run with you
together toward
ourselves down the street to your street
i wanted to laugh aloud
and skip the notes past
the marquee advertising “women
in love” past the record
shop with “The Spirit
In The Dark” past the smoke shop
past the park and no
parking today signs
past the people watching me in
my blue velvet and i don’t remember what you wore but only that i didn’t want
anything to be wearing you
i wanted to give
myself to the cyclone that is
your arms
and let you in the eye of my hurricane and know
the calm before
and some fall evening
after the cocktails
and the very expensive and very bad
steak served with day-old baked potatoes
and the second cup of coffee taken
while listening to the rejected
violin player
maybe some fall evening
when the taxis have passed you by
and that light sort of rain
that occasionally falls
in new york begins
you’ll take a thought
and laugh aloud
the notes carrying all the way over
to me and we’ll run again
together
toward each other
yes?
Oh, yes!
* * *
P.S. Finally, some people say that New York has attitude. Well, maybe. But not for those of us who worship at the shrine of that inveterate New Yorker, Dorothy Parker.
If I don’t drive around the park,
I’m pretty sure to make my mark.
If I’m in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again,
If I abstain from fun and such,
I’ll probably amount to much,
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.
* * *
VIDEO. Our video presents some poetic snapshots of New York. First,
Valerie Harper and George Backman offer Edna St. Vincent Millay’s charming description of riding all night on the ferry.
Then Patti Smith, a dedicated Walt Whitman lover, presents the closing lines of his “Mannahatta,”
Helena Bonham Carter reads Elizabeth Bishop’s poem, “Letter to N.Y.
It’s a message to her lover who is alone in the city.
Our final video features a special guest. We’ll leave it to you to provide the name!
CLICK ON THIS LINK FOR VIDEO: MAKE MINE MANHATTAN
