God, I cannot find your face this morning: the night has been split, a morning light has come and lo! there is the city, and there are the city men with their wheels coming to swallow darkness under towers.

Ah! Ah! there’s rage here, God, there’s a bridge too upon which the wheels collide, beneath which they bring more wheels and tunnels, there’s a fire raging here over dull multitudes.

God I have known this city and stayed here trapped and full of rage, I have been a city man, with wheels, and walkings all about inside, I have seen their faces all around me here.

I must see your face this morning, God, Your Face through dusty window-panes, through steam and furor, I must listen to your voice over these clankings of the city: I am tired, God, I cannot see your face in this history.

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Jack Kerouac  nel 1966 viene invitato in Italia dalla Mondadori. Intervistato da Fernanda Pivano, alla domanda: «Perché sei così disperato? cosa vuoi? cosa cerchi? cosa vorresti?» lo scrittore rispose «Dio. Voglio che Dio mi mostri il suo Volto.»

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