| |
Except for their clothing and the room,
Gonzetti's basement on MacDougal,
The men are a painting by Franz Hals,
Flemish Drinkers or Burghers of Antwerp.
We have a speakeasy here, however,
Four men drinking gin, three of them drunk.
Outside is the street that sleeps and screams,
Beyond it are other sleeping street,
And above us, above the paper'd ceiling,
Above Gonzetti's private roof,
Is a black, tremendous sky that crawls.
We have a Village speakeasy here,
One curtained room with ochre lights,
Four men drinking gin, three of them drunk.
Four new men are born in their brains
That would not show in a painting by Hals.
They do not hear each other now¢w
They listen to voices in themselves,
Mad with perfect sanity.
Hals could not show Gonzetti's room
Reeling and stretching out in space.
Hals could not show their brilliant eyes
Watching a thing beyond the walls
Step from air and beckon them
To follow through streets, and nights, and days...
We have a speakeasy here, tonight
Gonzetti, for three dollars cash,
Is giving the drinkers ten thousand things
Not Hals or any man could show.
|
