This is a poem I wrote while listening to Wayne Krantz, who, before-covid played at the 55 Bar every Thursday night. For more context, there’s an old clock on the wall at the 55 Bar. And there’s a clock on the roof of Grand Central Station that was designed by Tiffany. A semi-regular congregation member of his show for a few years, I handed the original to him after he played that night.
1/10/19
Not that a barstool could fathom
Rather having been made into your guitar
Nor the wood panel
Beneath your sneakers
That allows you to bounce,
Suspended where you are
But, from atop the barstool,
You are Grand Central
And I am Park Avenue South
I see the Tiffany time-telling roof mount
In the arrested wall clock
Slightly to the left of the door behind you
Perhaps as people move up the Avenue
Through the bowels of the terminal
Music moves through me
And certainly through you
