Untitled (The Hamburger Lounge) [by Mitch Sisskind]

The Hamburger Lounge? Yeats loved it there.
Eliot, Crane, Whitman, Amy and Robert Lowell,
 When they wanted hamburgers, they knew where.

The Golden Ox on Clybourn used to prepare 
A fine zwiebelfleisch, served with a roll; 
But the Hamburger Lounge? Yeats loved it there.

He rarely attended the Golden Ox, nor repaired
To the old Gripe 'n' Groan. Edna Milay, Heinrich Böll
When they wanted hamburgers, they knew where.

Kit Smart, Hilda Doolittle, Pound, John Clare, 
Their passion for hamburgers was beyond control; 
And the Hamburger Lounge? Yeats loved it there. 

Though I am unworthy, this one aspect I share 
WIth the past’s great metrists, in my heart and soul:
When they wanted hamburgers, they knew where.

To reveal, to disclose a hamburger past all compare
Was their supreme aspiration, their deepest-held goal
And when they wanted hamburgers, they knew where;
The Hamburger Lounge? Yeats loved it there.

Comments

[David Lehman]

This is the hamburger with the college education, Mitch.

[mitch sisskind]

I never once went there. A big mistake as I passed by almost every day!

[Kyril Alexander Calsoyas]

In the Hamburger Lounge, Yeats found his thrill,
A symphony of flavors, his hunger to fulfill.
With mystic verse and a burger in hand,
He declared, "A feast for the soul, grand!"

Eliot, with his modernist creed,
Savored each bite, in his introspective need.
"Hamburgers, a fragmented delight," he said,
"Layers of meaning in this patty spread."

Crane, the visionary, his words soared high,
The burger, a symbol against the vast sky.
"Meat and bun, united in flight,
A divine metaphor, an exquisite sight."

Whitman, the bard of democracy's song,
Declared, "Hamburgers, the people's throng!
From every tongue and culture they arise,
Symbolizing freedom, in every size."

Amy and Robert Lowell, their words entwined,
A duet of verses, their love for burgers defined.
"Each bite, a confession, a shared affair,
Hamburgers fuel our passion, a poetic flare."

Edna Milay, the mistress of sonnet's grace,
Found solace in burgers, a delicate embrace.
"Hamburgers, a sonnet on a plate,
A fleeting pleasure, a poet's fate."

Heinrich Böll, the German voice profound,
Savored the burger, a memory profound.
"In each bite, history's weight I bear,
A nourishing reminder, a burden to share."

Kit Smart, the mad poet, danced with glee,
"Hamburgers, a joyous feast for me!
Words and flavors, a wild, unruly affair,
In this carnivorous madness, I declare!"

Hilda Doolittle, the imagist muse,
Found beauty in burgers, a poet's dues.
"Each ingredient, a vivid image anew,
Hamburgers, a canvas for thoughts to pursue."

Pound, the modernist with visions rare,
Declared, "Burgers, a musical affair!
The sizzle and savor, a symphonic refrain,
Hamburgers, a poem, I can't explain."

And John Clare, the nature's poet dear,
Found solace in burgers, a humble cheer.
"With each bite, I taste the pastoral scene,
Hamburgers, a connection to what has been."

These poets, united by their love of fare,
In the Hamburger Lounge, they all did share.
Their comments, unique, their voices flare,
In rhymes and verses, a culinary affair.

For when they craved hamburgers, their desire,
Led them to the Lounge, where poets conspire.
In each bite, their styles mingled and grew,
The Hamburger Lounge, a poetic rendezvous.

[Jacques Malgrai]

J'ai commandé un hamburger oeuf à cheval au Drugstore et, mec, c'était superbe!