I love those spiritsThat men stand off and point at,Or shudder and hood up their souls—Those ruined ones,Where Liberty has lodged an hourAnd passed like flame,Bursting asunder the too small house. (The Ghetto and Other Poems, p. 47)
Charge the blast furnace, workman…Open the valves—Drive the fires high…(Night is above the gates)… (The Ghetto, p. 50)
Let men be free!Hate is the priceOf servitude, paid covertly; and viceBut the unclean recoil of tortured fleshWhipped through the centuries within a meshSpun out of priestly art.Oh men, arise, be free!—Who breaks one barOf tyranny in this so bitter starHas cleansed its bitterness in part. (Mother Earth, p. 97)
… proletariat modernism as a movement was buried under the anti-liberal, anti-female, and anti-experiment sentiments of the WWII period and the McCarthyism that followed. Good friends with William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore, Hart Crane and Jean Toomer, Ridge’s legacy was not restored due to a continued critical disdain for political poetry, a devaluation of women’s contributions to the genre and the revival of formal poetry."
Hallo, Metropolitan— Ubiquitous windows staring all ways, Red eye notching the darkness. No use to ogle that slip of a moon. This midnight the moon, Playing virgin after all her encounters, Will break another date with you. (Sun Up and Other Poems, p. 28)