Harold Hart Crane

(21 July 1899 – 27 April 1932 / Garrettsville, Ohio)

The Bridge: To Brooklyn Bridge - Poem by Harold Hart Crane

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty--

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
--Till elevators drop us from our day . . .

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced
As though the sun took step of thee, yet left
Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,--
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!

Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . .
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.

And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.

O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry,--

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path--condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City's fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year . . .

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.


Comments about The Bridge: To Brooklyn Bridge by Harold Hart Crane

  • (12/23/2019 2:16:00 PM)

    The bridge is a Fantastical sense of one bringing their Consciousness into the vision of this bridge and of everything it stands for of everything it bleeds from the human consciousness from sadness to to Fury to hate to pain to suffering to laughter and joy the bridge becomes the one road that leads all people from suffering back to Triumph and there it is where we find the voice of Hart Crane Breaking Free like an egg cracked on a frying pan (Report)Reply

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Read poems about / on: freedom, city, silver, river, snow, heaven, sea, sky, sun, god, night, dream, water, star



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

Poem Edited: Thursday, January 12, 2012


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