Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Night

Emanuel Carnevali

TAKE me all,

Woman whom I know so well, every wrinkle of you—my room—

We won’t fight any more.

I have been around, and I have seen the wisdom of you

In the city.

Lay me down over the torn bedspread, let the bed-bugs keep me company—

Don’t be a prude, old lady:

Your wounds are disgusting enough,

But in the city only the syphilis blooms

And all the other

Flowers are dead.

I will let you reach out with your smell into me.

Literature, eh?—

Blossoms of beggary, morning breath of the sick, dreams of the dead!

And I,

Devising sun-spangling images …. at night, on your table!—

With the urge from the soiled-linen box!

Tonight the lie got drunk with sarcasm

And croaked,

Having found nowhere in the city

Self-assertion.

Put me to sleep,

Knock me to sleep;

Or keep me awake and keep a gnaw in my heart working,

If so you please.

Outside a greasy moon

Refuses to understand

How ridiculous her unesthetic weeping is.

If I kill myself….

She may….

If I kill myself….

He may….

Would they……..?

What would you want, O Death,

Face-of-character,

With a faceless man like me!

Without you, Death,

I am dead.

So I’m going out.

There must be a comfortable little place

For me in the world—

Now I’m dead enough—

I picked it out reading the Evening Journal Sermon on Success.

To hell with books—I’ll give my young body a chance,

Before my head gets bald.

I will walk with the marionettes

Now I’m dislocated enough and my mouth is clogged.

I’ll go talk to them

Now I’m dumb enough.

But come and see me….

Oh, do come and see me,

Look down upon me from your place in the sky,

O MY HIGH DREAM!

I have a brain for everything,

I shall dance their ragtime.

Will someone whisper, sometime—

“There is a man who dances

With a strange embarrassment?”