Ron Padgett reads an excerpt from Blaise Cendrars’s poem “Easter in New York,” 1912.
Sonia Delaunay designed the binding for Blaise Cendrars’s “Easter in New York” poetry booklet.
Transcript
Padgett: "Easter in New York,” by Blaise Cendrars.
Lord, cold as a shroud the dawn slipped away
And left the skyscrapers naked in the day.
Already a giant noise resounds across the day.
Already the trains are lurching and roaring away.
The subways run and thunder underground.
The bridges shake with the railway’s sound.
The city trembles. Cries and smoke and flames,
Steam whistles give out screechy screams.
A crowd enfevered by the toil that pays
Jostles and disappears down long passageways.
The dim sun, in the roofs’ plumed confusion—it
Is your Face soiled with spit.
Lord, I come back tired, alone, and utterly dejected . . .
My room is as empty as a tomb . . .
Lord, I’m all alone and I have a fever . . .
My bed is as cold as a coffin . . .
Lord, I close my eyes and my teeth chatter . . .
I’m too alone. I’m cold. I call your name . . .
A thousand tops spin before my eyes . . .
No, a thousand women . . . No, a thousand cellos . . .
I think, Lord, about how miserable I’ve been . . .
I think, Lord, about all the days that are gone . . .
I stop thinking about You. I stop thinking about You.
