I\u2019ve never been there.
\nIt\u2019s so familiar to me
\nthat I forget I\u2019ve never been there.
\nAnd I must go to see
\nwhat I know so well.
\nThe feel of the sidewalks,
\ntrees in their little potties of concrete.
\nIt\u2019s good that I might see it
\nin the spring.<\/p>\n
What will the people say to me?
\nEyes full of prairie,
\nface relaxed and featureless
\nfrom the stories of the Midwest.
\nWill they walk through me like air
\nsmelling of apples and wheat?
\nDoes New York know its genius
\nnever lived there?
\nNever grew up with its buildings
\nsurrounding the sky.
\nThat the artists and singers,
\nthe professors and poets
\ncould not have taken root
\nin so much concrete.<\/p>\n
But it is beautiful nevertheless.
\nLike a sporting event
\nwith a hundred thousand people
\nabsorbed in a great drama.
\nThat is what I might see.
\nWhat I expect.
\nA congregation of caravans
\nfrom the ends of the earth
\nbuying and selling,
\nliving and dying,
\nintoxicated by the fumes
\nof a metropolis
\nfor which there is no other.
\nPerhaps best understood
\nby the movies of a lifetime.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I\u2019ve never been there. It\u2019s so familiar to me that I forget I\u2019ve never been there. And I must go to see what I know…<\/p>\n