by T.S. Eliot
THE WINTER evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
Moving from Whitman’s road to Eliot’s street…a big difference in mood. I’m including the 1st of 4 preludes above. For the full version of the poem –> see this link.
I am working from a photograph of the San Francisco Symphony Hall back when they had the large banner of MTT hanging. I feel like the Symphony Hall is a shining island surrounded by gray, grimy streets. Part of the reason I love the city so much is that there are so many images and worlds of contrast here — no part is better or worse to me — just different and all part of what makes living here a meaningful experience.
Preludes I, gouache on paper, 8 x 11 inches