abbattoir vigilante

To The Brooklyn Bridge.
This poem has some meaning to me. My grandparents have this framed version of it in the foyer of their apartment. The poem is laid out of some gaudy tracing modernist looking 70’s art print of the bridge it’s self. The bridge is a black outline in the print and the background is this awkward orange sunset color. The poem it’s self is written in this weird chicken scratch kind of “I don’t give a damn” all capitals handwriting. It was how I always pictured all new york beat poetry should be drawn as a child. I’m not sure this is beat classified though. After my parent’s got divorced my father asked me if it was possible that I could request to inherit the painting of the poem and then give it to him (they were my mom’s parents), because it had always been his favorite work of art in their apartment.
I sometimes wonder who did the painting and if it was the poet himself. I mean HArt Crane is somewhat famous, and my grandparents are art collectors. Anyways I never assumed I’d read the poem for school but as soon as I saw that Hart Crane at the top I said to myself “shit I know this poem”. My grandparents aren’t even jewish.
I would say I find the poem somewhat enjoyable. I often wonder about peoples constant relation of New York City to god and religion. Something with all this filth must be so holy. OH holy holy holy hell. I hate that poem though. I guess the image of gates will always reflect an entrance into a greater realm. The gates to heaven, the gates to the city, even the gates to a pasture. A bridge after all is simply a gateway that passes over water. And in a greater realm anything is possible, so if you believe. Believe anything is possible. Believe in god.

I’ll take a picture of it the next time I’m there.