[02:08.00]Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
[02:16.00]downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph
[02:28.00]the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer—
[02:41.00]And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn—
[02:55.00]Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse,
[03:02.00]the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after,
[03:07.00]looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city
[03:12.00]a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed—
[03:22.00]like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion—
[03:26.00]No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance,
[03:34.00]sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other,
[03:39.00]worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more?
[03:50.00]It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place.
[04:10.00]or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock—
[04:26.00]Man: It's full of uhh... Woman: How was it?
[04:27.00]Man: It's full of really bad images. Woman: Yeah.
[04:30.00]Man: Horrible. I mean... Yuk, I was depressed last night thinking of it.
[04:37.00]Woman: Really? Man: That's what's wrong with me.
[04:56.00]Hello, it's very horrible at the same time very beautiful.
[05:11.00]Hello, it's very horrible at the same time very beautiful.
[05:31.00]Hello, it's very horrible at the same time very beautiful.

Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph
the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer—
And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn—
Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse,
the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after,
looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city
a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed—
like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion—
No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance,
sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other,
worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more?
It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place.
or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock—
Man: It's full of uhh... Woman: How was it?
Man: It's full of really bad images. Woman: Yeah.
Man: Horrible. I mean... Yuk, I was depressed last night thinking of it.
Woman: Really? Man: That's what's wrong with me.
Hello, it's very horrible at the same time very beautiful.
Hello, it's very horrible at the same time very beautiful.
Hello, it's very horrible at the same time very beautiful.