Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SAN FRANCISCO BRIDGE, by HENRY MAY JR.


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SAN FRANCISCO BRIDGE, by                    
First Line: Slung from the stalwart necks of four ... Towers
Last Line: Graceful and confident over infinity.
Subject(s): Steel


Slung from the stalwart necks of four steel towers,
Festoons of steel sweep wonderfully down,
Rock-anchored, many-stranded, strong enough
To lift a shining street across the water --
Graceful and confident over wide water.
Watching the water, two men blow smoke over a railing:
"Well, looks like they're almost done."
"Sure does."
"How much is it costing? Seventy-five million, they tell me."
"Uh huh."
"Would you look at the size of that tower with the ship going past it?
Look at that little guy way up there on the catwalk,
Waay up there.
Geez, wouldn't that be a hell of a job for you?"
"Sure would."
"Biggest bridge in the world."
"Yeah."

Gigantic through Embarcadero fog,
The legs of towers stand as square as doom,
Steel and concrete, impregnable, inhuman.
They carry a shining street, but we can't see it;
We are too close to see, and anyway
There is no room for beauty on these docks.
We only see the ships, and oily water
Lapping the stony feet of ignorant towers.
"Hya, Joe, watcha doin'?"
"Nothin' much."
"Ever try the bridge, Joe?"
"Yeah."
"No soap, huh?"
"No soap."
"Christ, some guy must be makin' a lot of money outta that
thing."
"Yeah, some crook."
"I'd like to work on that thing. It'd be swell to work on
something like that."
"Maybe."

From Telegraph Hill the bridge is bright and tiny.
(So many things are small from Telegraph Hill.)
Stretching from streets and docks to slow brown hills
A glittering wire, strung with delicate towers
Relieves the sunny smoothness of the Bay.

Mr. McFee, the artist
(That is, he writes stories)
Likes to sit on his Riviera terrace.
(Watch him, I betcha he's thinking up a story.)
"That bridge now, I might do a little thing about that.
Design, perfection, pattern.
Still, might sound like Civic Betterment.
How about the Communist angle; that's certainly being done.
Progress, cooperation, comrades.
No, I'm afraid not. H'mmm.
Don't cross your bridges before they're hatched; heh, heh, heh.
Heh heh."

Between the monoliths of lower Market
The bridge is a sector of steel, half a festoon,
The gleaming tip of a tower, slender, confident.
"HOP Mokket, Mokket Cah,
CITY of Paris, shopping distRICT."
("Bus leaves for Chinatown, genuine Chinese joss-house.")
"HALLaway up Mokket!"
(The tubby gentleman approaches the car)
"Hey, 'Zaminaw, Krawnickle,
Pappy, misteh?"
(Oh I hope it isn't war; yes, I'll get one.)
BRITAIN DROPS SANCTIONS
LANDON STATES VIEWS
POPE HITS COMMUNISTS
HITLER HITS JEWS
(Always strikes, and trouble; why can't they tell more about the Bridge.
That's going to be a great thing for the city, what with the fair, and all.)
"A WRIGHT, STEP ABAWD! STEP ABAWD!
Can't stand still here, mister. HUP Mokket!"
(Risking his life, the gentleman swings aboard.)
Only at night the Bay is cool and quiet.
Gleaming from black infinity ascend
Square and serene, these monuments of stone.
Enormous corners, set with warning lights,
Glitter along the tips of silent ripples.
What do you mean, incredible strength of stone,
Built to remain when cities die in flames,
Built to endure the end of this my city?
Already guns (this is a violent city)
And bayonets have licked the Embarcadero.
What do you mean, incredible arcs of steel,
Merciless incidental beauty of steel,
Built out of sweat and danger, touched by death --
Built from a plan, to speed our city's future.
Order and peace? It will be long I fear
Before the struggle dies on Market Street.
Order and peace? This is a lusty city.
Watcher return. Neither the world nor you
Will die tomorrow. Return, now is no time
To stand by quiet water asking questions.
Return to zeal and anarchy. . . . But first
Discern the fearless tower, follow and see
Against deep sky the curve of soaring steel,
Graceful and confident over infinity.





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