Romir Swar Week 7: New York Lives
Each day begins before the last one ends, as if exhaling wasn't a possible reality.
Somewhere, a baker kneads fresh dough—dough that rises with the currently sleeping sun.
Somewhere, police sirens paint the sparkling air with loud flashes of red and blue.
Somewhere, an aspiring actor rehearses. her lines, engraving every syllable to her tongue.
Everywhere, lives New York.
Yellow cabs crowd the already overpopulated streets.
Skyscrapers puncture the already torn sky.
Heavy rain washes down on the already stained city.
But petals bloom after rainstorms.
Because beneath the blanket of chaos lies an ever awake New York.
The surface below reveals a new world of mass intersection.
Subways mirroring the laces of an apple pie.
Rushing footsteps weaving in and out towards their destiny.
Shoes brushing against each other creating an unplanned symphony.
Within the blur, New York breathes.
Stacked in tiny apartments, families wish goodnight.
Two floors down, friends sit circle up, with no idea the time.
Two floors further, a bar resides, full of laughter and drinks.
Drinks and secrets spill, both of which are forgotten the following day.
In the nighttime, New York pulses.
Times Square reflects a galaxy of opportunity.Billboards shine brighter than stars.
People in lines, shivering, speaking with a cadence they just discovered.
Taxis—like ice cream workers—scoop stories, and drop them off elsewhere.
As December arrives, the city transforms.
Lights wrap around street poles like giftwrapping paper.
Families and couples crowd the Rockefeller, hoping not to fall flat on the ice.
Life ornamented everywhere, as if each store was a Duncan’s Toy Chest.
Hot chocolate warms numb hands, giving a moment of soft silence.
At the end of every day, New York remembers.
Footprints remain long after they fade.
The noise, the lights, the little moments that linger.
The hope some arrive with, the hope others leave with.
This city stays awake, reminding me that life is always moving, even when I’m not.
Romir, this poem is so artfully written. The care put into depicting the life of the city even reminds me a bit of Nick at Tom’s little apartment party, reflecting on the city’s yellow lights. Since we’re situated in California, I’m now extremely curious as to how you’ve captured New York’s essence so well—did you live there? Vacation in the city? I desperately need answers regarding how you could illustrate such scenes with all the flourish and thoughtful details you’ve incorporated here.
ReplyDeleteThe first few lines about the somewheres of New York are really well done. In my interpretation of your poem, the baker seems to symbolize the commonality of the city and the ebbing tides of daylight; the police being the crime and strife of a typical, packed metropolitan center; the actor representing all the aspirations of those who live in NYC—many of whom are renowned, hardworking talents. And then after this, I love how you followed with all these illustrative details. I love imagery—all my thoughts are basically in images and I can’t remember concepts without them—and your writing stands out in my mind, being so vivid. My favorite line of imagery has to be the “Subways mirroring the laces of an apple pie.” This is wonderfully creative and I can’t get over it. Also gotta love how you compare taxis to ice cream workers! Again, do you have endless creativity? Not only did you mention ice cream, this line about scoop stories being gossip is just so clever. And the last stanza is also well thought out. The snowy footprints tying December into lingering hopes and the symbol of the city is an amazing transition. I thoroughly enjoyed your poem. If your future path doesn’t relate to poetry, please make sure it does.
I’m curious to know why you picked New York City as your subject for this poem! I’ve never been there myself but I’ve heard a lot of literature and art dedicated to it, and it makes me eager to go there someday. For this poem, I love the sense of tranquility you’ve curated using chaotic and varied imagery—from the multiple floors with different people to rushing footsteps and honking taxis, it’s all too easy to make this a poem about feeling overwhelmed amid the madness that is an ultra-metropolis. For this reason, many people dislike large cities and prefer to live, work, and study in suburban or rural areas. There are plenty of other completely valid reasons why, including but not limited to the cost of living, traffic, potential lack of privacy, high crime, safety issues, annoying tourists, and more. Yet, despite the headache and pervasive human vices that come with living in a large city, I’ve always found the vibe there to feel more peaceful. Personally, the sheer amount of activity in a city makes it feel more like commotion happening behind a shell that’s around me rather than overstimulation. If I want to feel alone, I could sit in an apartment and watch the world go by, so that I can feel like a mere witness to everyone else’s lives. If I wanted to feel like I’m part of something bigger, I could go out with my friends and do something. The emotion and often nostalgic feeling that comes with going around the city, especially at night, is an indescribable feeling you really can’t find anywhere else. It’s why I love metropolitan cities so much; in fact, some of my dream colleges (UCLA, UC San Diego) are situated close to ones. It’s obviously not a lifestyle for everyone, but the appreciation of cities in an age when many of them are being put under siege was very touching in this poem. Beautiful work!
ReplyDeleteI was really hoping to see more poetry! The shortened version of this whole comment will just be “I love this,” but there is so much to say! If I were to describe this poem in a single word, I’d call it a very intimate look at New York. The minute details you managed to capture made it feel like the poem itself was breathing too. I especially loved lines 16-19, there is almost a musicality to it when it is read aloud because of the alliteration and repetition that happens between the lines. Which again, in my opinion, really adds to the living quality of the poem. This really reminds me of a poem that I wrote last year, in a similar vein of thought except the poem was about Gotham (I really can’t leave the superhero stuff alone). It was meant to be an act of love to the fictional place, which I find really ironic because I can feel how much you love New York through this too (and because Gotham is based on New York as well).
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