Euphorias

I heard a child, a little under four years old, when asked what was meant by being in good spirits, answer, “It is laughing, talking, and kissing.”
—CHARLES DARWIN, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals

1.WALDORF-ASTORIA EUPHORIA,

THE JOY OF BIG CITIES

Joy, when intense, leads to various purposeless

movements—to dancing about, clapping the

hands, stamping, etc.—IBID.

You feel so good, you stop walking:

they swirl around you, racing the 6:15.

You bless them all with a smile

you cannot explain: they are suddenly

precious. You look around, with your alien eyes,

at forty floors of windows where

they are laughing, talking, and kissing: you realize

they are priceless. You feel them

under the pavement, riding the uptown express,

straphanging bodies waving

like kelp, and you know

they are irreplaceable; you think of them

all over town, bursting

with unused happiness, and you clap,

and clap again, and clapping, you sing

a song you thought you’d forgotten, and your waist

moves gently, like jonquils, and your hand

catches her fingertips, and she smiles, her arms

moving like willows,

and the fruitseller dances with apples,

crying a musical language, and a girl

with a bongo comes on with rhythm,

her hips moving like wheatfields, and

the hardhats come up from the manholes,

their bodies moving like jackhammers,

and Chinese voices like windchimes

sing to the women from San Juan

who gather around like palm trees, and the cops

have cordoned the street and are dancing

with women from Minnesota,

their thighs as seductive as seaweed;

and you know that sooner or later

this had to happen: that somehow

it would all break out, all that pent-up

joy, and people would sing and hold hands,

their bodies swerving like taxis,

and the music inside their heads

would fill the streets with dancing,

clapping hands, and stamping;

and you sing another chorus

of we,

hey, we,

yes, we,

I said we

are all

we’ve got.

2.HUNKYDORIA EUPHORIA,

THE JOY OF HAVING IT MADE

From the excitement of pleasure, the circulation

becomes more rapid, the eyes are bright, and

the colour of the face rises. —IBID.

You’re sweating it out: the last time

it was never received;

it was lost in the files; sent

to the wrong department.

If you get there by noon, surely

it will be all right; but the seconds

are deadly. At ten to twelve

You reach the office, and of course

there’s a line.

You inch along; at noon you touch

mahogany, and just as you feared, there is

some difficulty, a shuffling

of papers: you feel

the invisible stars

swing through their long

cold journey. Finally—

you can hardly believe it—

it’s there! the very thing! the thing itself!

and the holy rubber stamp

falls like a benediction,

and you hear, above the ceiling,

the seraphim rejoicing,

and you smooth your hair

and borrow a debonair manner

and step through the frosted door

so deliberately,

no one would ever guess

that right there under your shirt

the sun is dancing on water.

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