Lo, Lord, Thou ridest!
Lord, Lord, Thy swifting heart
Nought stayeth, nought now bideth
But’s smithereened apart!
Ay! Scripture flee’th stone!
Milk-bright, Thy chisel wind
Rescindeth flesh from bone
To quivering whittlings thinned—
Swept, whistling straw! Battered,
Lord, e’en boulders now outleap
Rock sockets, levin-lathered!
Nor, Lord, may worm outdeep
Thy drum’s gambade, its plunge abscond!
Lord God, while summits crashing
Whip sea-kelp screaming on blond
Sky-seethe, dense heaven dashing—
Thou ridest to the door, Lord!
Thou bidest wall nor floor, Lord!
Tennessee Williams hardly takes a breath reciting this 53 second poem and getting carried away toward the end, says "high heaven dashing" instead of "dense heaven dashing," but what the heck, what fun this is, Hart Crane's The Hurricane. I transferred this from a Caedmon recording, an LP I bought in the 1970s: Tennessee Williams reads Hart Crane.
For more poems and other stuff, check out: donyorty.com/blog