«Urban art, art of the cities, art of the young in the cities—The isolated man is dead, his world around him exhausted
And he fails! He fails, that meditative man! And indeed they cannot ‘bear’ it.
It is that light
Seeps anywhere, a light for the times
In which the buildings
Stand on low ground, their pediments
Just above the harbor
Absolutely immobile,
Hollow, available, you could enter any building,
You could look from any window
One might wave to himself
From the top of the Empire State Building
If you can
G. Oppen