Classic Poem

I met a man in South Street, tall —
a nervous shark tooth swung on his chain
His eyes pressed through green glass
— green glasses, or bar lights made them
so —
shine —
GREEN —
eyes —
stepped out — forgot to look at you
or left you several blocks away —

in the nickel-in-the-slot piano jogged
" Stamboul Nights " — weaving somebody's nickel — sang —

O Stamboul Rose — dreams weave the rose!

Murmurs of Leviathan he spoke,
and rum was Plato in our heads.

" It's S.S. Ala — Antwerp — now remember kid
to put me out at three she sails on time.
I'm not much good at time any more keep
weakeyed watches sometimes snooze — " his bony hands
got to beating time ... " A whaler once —
I ought to keep time and get over it — I'm a
Democrat — I know what time it is — No
I don't want to know what time it is — that
damned white Arctic killed my time ... "

O Stamboul Rose — drums weave —

" I ran a donkey engine down there on the Canal
in Panama — got tired of that —
then Yucatan selling kitchenware — beads —
have you seen Popocatepetl — birdless mouth
with ashes sifting down — ?
and then the coast again ... "

Rose of Stamboul O coral Queen —
teased remnants of the skeletons of cities —
and galleries, galleries of watergutted lava
snarling stone — green — drums — drown —

Sing!
" — that spiracle! " he shot a finger out the door ...
" O life's a geyser — beautiful — my lungs —
No — I can't live on land — ! "

I saw the frontiers gleaming of his mind;
or are there frontiers — running sands sometimes
running sands — somewhere — sands running ...
Or they may start some white machine that sings.
Then you may laugh and dance the axletree —
steel — silver — kick the traces — and know —
ATLANTIS ROSE drums wreathe the rose,
the star floats burning in a gulf of tears
and sleep another thousand —

interminably
long since somebody's nickel — stopped —
playing —

A wind worried those wicker-neat lapels, the
swinging summer entrances to cooler hells ...
Outside a wharf truck nearly ran him down
— he lunged up Bowery way while the dawn
was putting the Statue of Liberty out — that
torch of hers you know —

I started walking home across the Bridge ...
. . . . . .

Blithe Yankee vanities, turreted sprites, winged
British repartees, skil-
ful savage sea-girls
that bloomed in the spring — Heave, weave
those bright designs the trade winds drive ...

Sweet opium and tea, Yo-ho!
Pennies for porpoises that bank the keel!
Fins whip the breeze around Japan!

Bright skysails ticketing the Line, wink round the Horn
to Frisco, Melbourne ...
Pennants, parabolas —
clipper dreams indelible and ranging,
baronial white on lucky blue!

Perennial- Cutty -trophied- Sark !

Thermopylae, Black Prince, Flying Cloud through Sunda
— scarfed of foam, their bellies veered green esplanades,
locked in wind-humors, ran their eastings down;

at Java Head freshened the nip
(sweet opium and tea!)
and turned and left us on the lee ...

Buntlines tusseling (91 days, 20 hours and anchored!)
Rainbow, Leander
(last trip a tragedy) — where can you be
Nimbus ? and you rivals two —

a long tack keeping —
Taeping?
Ariel ?