On Doty's "Broadway"

Mark Doty's "Broadway" is from the beginning making way for the nested poetry of the character Ezekiel, to imbue the incidents and accidents surrounding it with significance. The construction of the voice is especially important to this end, but figurative language and the poem's lineation also play a subtle supporting role.

The first five stanzas are basically a setup - of the scene, the mood, and the voice. The scene is an everyday one, quickly establishing a familiar setting: the relatively famous Grand Central station evokes very specific experiences from the memories of readers who are acquainted with New York, and at least a general sense of the city setting for those who are not. The effect is bolstered, of course, by the title itself, and the mention of Broadway in the second stanza, as well as the mention of more or less specific features of the city - "jeweler's windows" in the third stanza, "doorways of banks" in the fifth, "103rd" in the sixth, and so on.

From the very first lines - "Under Grand Central's tattered vault / - maybe half a dozen electric stars still lit" - a sense of dilapidation is established. The lonely saxophone and the "sheer black scrim / [billowing] over some minor constellation / under repair" in the first and second stanzas lend to this broken-down impression. An accompanying gritty feeling is added by the contrast of the "red wings / in a storefront tableau, lustrous," of the "live macaws / preening" with the makeshift tables of secondhand magazines and shoes the hawkers eye while they shelter in the doorways of banks.

The lines, rolling one over the next, convey the sense of seeing these somewhat sad surroundings as one's own gaze scans to and fro. The voice is familiar as well, sounding relatively natural and uncontrived to the modern reader.
In the next seven stanzas, we at last meet two proper characters in the poem's narrative, first Carlotta, and then the poet Ezekiel. With Carlotta's entrance, the poem becomes focused on particular experience, leaving behind the rolling, roving description of the sad city which culminates in the sixth stanza with "So many pockets and paper cups / and hands reeled over the weight / of that glittered pavement." Carlotta essentially serves as a point of refocus for the poem, and the way Doty italicizes her speech (as well as Ezekiel's utterances below) draws the reader's attention, brings their thoughts back from roaming the damp streets. The speaker tells us Carlotta "was only asking for change, / so I don't know why I took her hand." We may notice incidentally, on rereading the poem that the speaker, at the time of his conversation with Carlotta, is unable to give her any change, as he has bestowed it all on Ezekiel, as we will see in the retrospective section of the poem which punctuates the encounter with Carlotta. It is interesting to note that an image Doty very lightly touched upon in the sixth stanza - glittered pavement - is expanded vastly in the seventh and eighth stanzas, where "The rooftops were glowing above us, / enormous, crystalline, a second city / lit from within." This vivid brightness, especially when contrasted with the destitution laid out at the beginning of the poem, is reminiscent of the biblical descriptions of New Jerusalem, the heavenly city.

It may be significant, therefore, that immediately following this sweeping flash of imagery, Ezekiel, bearing the name of a prophet, enters the poem. This Ezekiel seems to have a bit of the charisma of a prophet as well, standing suddenly but very composedly, and reciting his poem, which he calls "fall." Our attention is drawn to the importance of this poem-within-a-poem, by its being italicized in the text, by the very fact that Ezekiel feels compelled to recite it, and by his "[standing] up straight / to recite, a child reminded of his posture / by the gravity of his text." And his message indeed seems of great importance, in the context of this (outer) poem:

Love is protected, he said,

the way leaves are packed in snow,
the rubies of fall. God is protecting
the jewel of love for us.

The dreary city is made like to a forest in winter, and like the beautiful colors of Autumn - "the rubies of fall" - are hidden, so is "the jewel of love" preserved, closely protected (by God, no less). Love, of most preeminent import to poets, is safe even in this city. These lines shine in the midst of the desolate city, and are possessed of a redemptive quality.

Having recounted Ezekiel's recital, the speaker tells us he "gave him all the change left in [his] pocket," and that the man beside him gave his watch. Ezekiel, surprised by these offerings, walks away "as if so much good fortune / must be hurried away from, / before anyone realizes it's a mistake." Suddenly, we are back with the speaker and Carlotta, "under the radiant towers, the floodlit ramparts," their hands touching. She "must have wondered at my impulse to touch her," the speaker muses,

which was like touching myself,
the way your own hand feels when you hold it
because you want to feel contained.

Profound intimations abound just below the surface of these lines. In light of the vaguely heavenly imagery of the "second city" and the almost prophetic presence of Ezekiel, the gesture of self reference which comes to the speaker's mind echoes God's self-referential declaration to Moses in Exodus, "I AM WHO I AM." This, in turn, leads one to wonder if Doty is quietly suggesting something about God's reason for creation, but none of this can be really borne out by the lines of the poem. Neither are we given much time to ponder the possible meaning of this notion of self-reference, for Doty has Carlotta almost abruptly chime in, "You get home safe now, you hear?" which at first glance seems to serve simply to snip off the blossoming lines of thought which arise from the preceding lines of poetry. Again the italicization makes this short line scissor-sharp, making for a swift refocus.

On second glance, however, one needs to consider if there is something to this line after all, for the second to last verse begins "In the same way Ezekiel turned back / to the benevolent stranger." In the same way as what? Perhaps in the same way as Carlotta speaks in her last line, with a concern for the speaker in the poem: Ezekiel is taking the time to stop, concerned to impart one last bit of his poetic profundity to the benevolent stranger before fleeing from an imagined jinx on his luck. Or, perhaps in the same way that the speaker took Carlotta's hand, which in turn is the same way one takes one's own hand: Ezekiel turns back to the benevolent stranger as one turning back to oneself; Ezekiel is the benevolent stranger. In fact, so is the speaker, who gave Ezekiel his change. The speaker, furthermore, while not identical per se with the poet (Doty), is speaking with the tongue of poetry, as is Ezekiel. They are contrasted by the italics and both of Ezekiel's verses being in groups of four lines (one of which is separated by Doty's stanza breaks), rather than Doty's groups of three. Nonetheless, they speak in the same way, as poets.

"I will write a poem for you tomorrow," Ezekiel says.

The poem I will write will go like this:
Our ancestors are replenishing
the jewel of love for us.

Recalling the imagery of Ezekiel's first poem, one sees the cyclicality of seasonal regeneration being continued here. The jewel of love is likened to fall leaves in the earlier poem, which are packed in snow - presently unseen in the winter. Now, drawing on the ancestors - everything that has come before the present season, as the tree draws life from the soil made from the leaves of seasons past - the jewel of love is being replenished, like new leaves budding, emeralds of Spring. Ezekiel offers consolation that love - and thus life - will return in the drear of the city, which is the drear of the life lacking love.

Thus does Ezekiel's pair of poems give life to "Broadway," in which they are couched. They are the purpose of the poem, which itself can only make way for them. While Ezekiel's words could stand alone, by putting them within the larger poem Doty gives a voice to them, and someone to hear the voice, that is, the speaker of the poem. We in turn become the speaker as we identify with his experience, which results in us hearing Ezekiel rather than reading his enigmatic lines by themselves. The speaker's city, at once dilapidated and shining, also gives a body, a setting to Ezekiel's seasonal imagery. And as we become the speaker, and see our surroundings in light of his, we are enabled to more easily behold the jewel of love, protected, when it seems dimmed.