NYC March 2003
A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry; it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines.
Here is New York, E.B. White
It's been many years since I have been to New York City. Early Spring of 2003 brought me to the city with my brother Jason and we were surprised by a day of snow. It was beautiful, and cold. I had not experienced city life in the snow before. The next day we drove out of the city to a church in the country, where Jason had to film an interview. A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry; it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines.
Here is New York, E.B. White
I have been craving another visit to the city. E.B. White's description of New York is exactly right. Life is compressed within the city, and yet somehow open and diverse. It's a harmonious mixture of life and even in the freezing cold as we walked the streets by the MET and the NYC Public Library. Central Park was blanketed in white and cold air hit my legs through my thin pants as we explored. I haven't seen snow since this trip, and I think it is due time for it.
No comments:
Post a Comment