CROSSING BROOKLYN BRIDGE

The Writers’ Chapter visited Walt Whitman’s birthplace in Huntington NY  in May 2018.

CROSSING BROOKLYN BRIDGE

By: Louise Naples

On the 150^thAnniversary of the publication of

Walt Whitman’s “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” from    Leaves of Grass

Brilliant autumn sun warms my face, warm breezes brush my hair awry,

As I walk  —  crossing Brooklyn Bridge.

No four-masters in sight;  nor thick-stemmed pipes of steamboats

clog the waterway now.

But, tugboats, oil barges, river taxis, and tourist launches

bustle to and fro about the flood tide below.

The current still races as madly as in your day,

Swirling strong – tossing the smallest vessels about.

It is 150 years since your musing dear Walt,

And we read you still.

Low wooden housing and harbor industry buildings are

Replaced by soaring glass cathedrals of business and finance.

Vast commercial enterprise fulfills the promise

Of old Dutch dreamers.

Sail craft made way for motorboats.

In place of your hundreds and hundreds of ferry boats,

Vast, elegant bridges transport us across, shore to shore on

pathways of cable and steel.  Brooklyn, Manhattan, Williamsburg –

It is 150 years since your musings,

And we read you still.

Bluejeans, leggings, and miniskirts replaced hoop skirts and rustling crinolines.

Top hats long gone, baseball caps the new norm.

Four-in-hand succumbed to sweat shirts.

High-buttoned boots and spats taken over by running shoes.

Peoples from more countries than ever you could imagine.

Nations evolved over time – their teeming numbers pouring in.

More colors, more races, more creeds inhabit both sides of the estuary.

A cacophony of languages still the music of our fair city.

The Lady of the Harbor greets all with lantern aloft.

A Lady you have never met.

Now crossing Brooklyn Bridge with walkers above, automobiles below;

Hoards of gentle people laughing, strolling, coaxing children along;

Each  -one – in a living crowd.

A smile on every face, a very happy place.

Digital cameras and cell phones recording  the day;

Nary a sketch book in sight.

Bridge-top benches invite picnic lunchers – the sights a marvel to all.

North and south, east and west.   These vistas you have not seen.

Sharp rays of sunlight pierce the late day sky,

Soft deepening colors array themselves to fill the ether.

The bridge forms cast great shadows on the walking deck,

The air grows cool, and strollers sense the coming end of day.

You are still more to us than you may ever have supposed.

You thought ahead to us;  we remember back to you.

Displayed on the docks and railings of your beloved Fulton Ferry Landing,

Your words speak to us still, cast now on bronze plaques.

Your lines in every classroom read,

Across our vast land.

It is 150 years since your musings, dear Walt,

And you speak to us still.