11 September 2011

via poets.org Mannahatta by Walt Whitman I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane,    unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays,    superb, Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and    steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender,    strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining    islands, the heights, the villas, The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters,    the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd, The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the    houses of business of the ship-merchants and money-    brokers, the river-streets, Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week, The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses,    the brown-faced sailors, The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing    clouds aloft, The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the    river, passing along up or down with the flood-tide or    ebb-tide, The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd,    beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the    shops and shows, A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—    hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young    men, City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts! City nested in bays! my city!