The bottom of the sea is cruel.
…..– Hart Crane
We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.
For we can still love the world, who find
A famished kitten on the step, and know
Recesses for it from the fury of the street,
Or warm torn elbow coverts.
We will sidestep, and to the final smirk
Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb
That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us,
Facing the dull squint with what innocence
And what surprise!
And yet these fine collapses are not lies
More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;
Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.
We can evade you, and all else but the heart:
What blame to us if the heart live on.
The game enforces smirks; but we have seen
The moon in lonely alleys make
A grail of laughter of an empty ash can,
And through all sound of gaiety and quest
Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.
Hart Crane’s ability to ply the hyperbolic sublime to even the saddest of tales is what makes him our Marlowe. To turn darkness to light, the gloom to poetry; awaken us to the plight of the streets and poverty with a sense of equanimity equal to the task in a poem made of words is to reach through the cracks of contradiction and touch the face of what is Real. This why we still honor him as the American Orpheus.
And Chaplin… need we say anymore! The visual poetry of that little tramp lives on, too!
Hart Crane, “Chaplinesque” from Complete Poems of Hart Crane, edited by Marc Simon. Copyright © 1933, 1958, 1966 by Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright © 1986 by Marc Simon. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing.