Time Square Hotel
Time Square Hotel
by Ulises Solano
it's Fall in New York City
confused breezes frazzle through
not sure whether Summer is altogether gone
walking through the revolving doors
there stands: the lobby of Time Square Hotel
its former glory now a glimpse
marble walls and floors,
flanked with golden angels and trumpets
right in the middle, an old baby grand stands alone
with empty chairs for audience
and between us, a security bar.
I stand, waiting, hearing a clock tick
suddenly an old man dazzles through the door
gives a glance, his only audience: I
as in old times, his coat flunks high behind the piano bench
as he begins the beguine
melody on the left hand, an accompaniment on the right
most unusual...
not really an accompaniment, but an echo of chords
and melancholy
a spell is cast...
my immediate sense of modernity is gone
and just as the melody throws me back to a time
many years before mine
the room is suddenly filled with lively ghosts from the past
ladies with lush feathered hats and furs,
gents in trench coats with fedoras, perfumed in tobacco
other melodies followed, never quite finished,
always languishing in half echoing chords... melancholy, nostalgia
but the effect was just the same...
prompting into my head images of times before mine
of times noir,
of glowing shadows,
and full painted lips...
I want to remain, but it is time to go
I cross the revolving doors once again
this time not alone,
the city noises bring me back to reality
my reality
will someone remember it in a song--
as confused Summer-Fall breezes strike again?
will someone hear the voices of melancholy and nostalgia
and think can see my time?
October 12, 2008
by Ulises Solano
it's Fall in New York City
confused breezes frazzle through
not sure whether Summer is altogether gone
walking through the revolving doors
there stands: the lobby of Time Square Hotel
its former glory now a glimpse
marble walls and floors,
flanked with golden angels and trumpets
right in the middle, an old baby grand stands alone
with empty chairs for audience
and between us, a security bar.
I stand, waiting, hearing a clock tick
suddenly an old man dazzles through the door
gives a glance, his only audience: I
as in old times, his coat flunks high behind the piano bench
as he begins the beguine
melody on the left hand, an accompaniment on the right
most unusual...
not really an accompaniment, but an echo of chords
and melancholy
a spell is cast...
my immediate sense of modernity is gone
and just as the melody throws me back to a time
many years before mine
the room is suddenly filled with lively ghosts from the past
ladies with lush feathered hats and furs,
gents in trench coats with fedoras, perfumed in tobacco
other melodies followed, never quite finished,
always languishing in half echoing chords... melancholy, nostalgia
but the effect was just the same...
prompting into my head images of times before mine
of times noir,
of glowing shadows,
and full painted lips...
I want to remain, but it is time to go
I cross the revolving doors once again
this time not alone,
the city noises bring me back to reality
my reality
will someone remember it in a song--
as confused Summer-Fall breezes strike again?
will someone hear the voices of melancholy and nostalgia
and think can see my time?
October 12, 2008