Central Park (story)

This poem was actually inspired by Sara Cedar Miller’s book on Central Park in New York, despite the fact that I have visited Central Park several times to enjoy it first-hand.

The spelling of “artizans” copies the spelling of one of the entrance gates at Seventh Avenue (Scholars’, Mariners’ and Artists’ being others.) The style I chose to write in hopefully reflects a 19th Century consciousness.

Sara is the official historian and photographer of the park, and her book, Central Park, an American Masterpiece, is, simply, a masterpiece. The poem expresses what Sara writes in the chapter called The Gates: “The very purpose of the romantic landscape, featuring curvilinear drives and meandering paths….was to escape New York’s unrelenting grid.”

And isn’t her name poetic?