Archive for October 2011

Quick windy video of Occupy Wall Street (Nightfall in Zuccotti Park 10/27/11)

October 27, 2011

For any who are interested, here’s a super quick and unfortunately extremely dark video of Zuccotti Park tonight. It actually is super dark down there.

I have better pix, but this gives some small notion of the wind (and this was taken before the wind really picked up.  There’s rain too.)   Protesters were doing the normal speak and repeat routine, but umbrellas were inverting and many people just huddled in tents, hoping not to be blown away.  (Sorry it’s so dark–can be seen better full screen.)

Conflation in Poetry? Hmmmm…. “Far”

October 27, 2011


As followers of this blog know, I’ve gotten very involved of late with the dVerse Poetry Pub, and poetry in general.  (There is nothing like community for stimulating work. )  The prompt today by Emmet Wheatfall deals with “conflation,” what I think of as piecing things, often disparate, together.  I don’t know if this poem totally qualifies, but it is a poem I’ve had on my mind, and that I re-wrote (and improved) with the idea of conflating themes in mind.   


We pushed from cold night into a Chinese restaurant,
the fluorescents reverberating like the din.  One waitress
wiped the table, burnishing smears into reflection;
 another balanced a rounded pot of tea and a fist’s stack
of cups (their sides glowing, incongruously,
with little seeds of translucence, grains of rice
made glass), the pot so full
that tea brimmed to the edge of its
spout with every shift from level, hip
or wrist, a
glimmering lithe tongue.

A man in my group had, some time before,
lost his adult child.  It had been sudden, she
had been young.
It was hard for me to look at him,
each expression–his patience
with the waitresses, concern about the chairs, even his
cold-reddened skin—a riddled mask
over the shear of loss that had left
the merest sense of face, worn
like the extremity
of an icon, the bronze saint whose foot has been rubbed
to a bare grip, slip
of soap, by petitioners who have
prayed to be washed clean, not of sin, but suffering.

The teapot begged to be poured; the waitress ran its
gulping stream over the beaded cups, steam rising into
air that ached to be warmed, the door, the night, opening
always at our side.

I could almost not look
at the man, as if his pain
might brim over,
scald me too, and yet another part of me,
what I like to think of as a part
that catches light like the curve of
a cup, or perhaps a part that is
dark, swirling, like the grain in the veneer
of even a plastic tabletop, that part that
somehow recalls a tree (or at least, the idea
of a tree), shifted my chair closer, wanting
to  drink with him that
fresh, hot tea, 
anything that could pass for succor.

Hunkering down in Zuccotti Park (“Occupy Wall Street”), a New/Old meaning of TARP

October 27, 2011

Cold and very wet in downtown NYC today. Tarps over both the tented and tentless. One of the best signs I’ve seen.



Occupying Wall Street looks hard in the A.M.

October 26, 2011








Sorry–uploaded from iPhone so this is a bit manky and went out to subscribers too quickly. Fits the morning mood though perhaps.

Occupy Wall Street – Zuccotti Park – Monday Night (10/25)

October 26, 2011

It’s getting dark early and cold in Zuccotti Park, the site in the New York Financial District where Wall Street is occupied.

I have to confess that, as a rule, I don’t watch television news, but my sense is that the protestors are being painted by some channels (i.e. Fox) as a scurrilous bunch. I walk through the park daily and they frankly seem a fairly studious bunch–there’s a whole lot of computing going on, as well as sitting, talking, and checking out pamphlets, magazines and books at a corner devoted to a library.

In the evening, because there is no megaphone, the crowd repeats the speaker’s words for amplification. Walking by, they actually sound something like a congregation in a church, repeating a creed or prayer. The voices are that somber.

Here are some pictures from last night–the library center, those standing and listening to speeches, the food line. (Sorry, I don’t have a great camera, and I’m really just a passer-by.)







“Here, Body” (The Body Is Not Your Good Dog.)

October 25, 2011


I’m sorry.  There is an incurable goofiness about some of my drawings.   I did this one (based on Leonardo) for the recently revised poem below.  It is quite a serious poem and not really much about dogs, so forgive me for being misleading.

The poem is being posted for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night (Tuesdays) hosted by the wonderfully generous (and thankfully, humorous) Brian Miller.

Here, Body

The body is not your good dog.
It may sit, lie down, roll over,
but there’s a limit to its Rover
aspect.  No spank
will keep it from
accident; no leash
train it to the right; no yank
make it heel

You tell it what to want, but
it will vaunt
its fleshly, furry ways,
sneaking food when already fed;
taking up all the room on the bed;
whiffing what should not be sniffed;
its passion aimed at but a toy–
here, girl; here, boy–
that can never love it back.

It will decay
though you say stay. Still,
you will love it,
this not-good dog;
for even as you scold and cajole,
and despair
of calling,
you will find yourself
cradling it;
you will find yourself
in its arms.

For the Doldrum Days – Kelly (Gene)

October 24, 2011


Antidote to a day with lots of not-so-much-fun stuff to deal with: Gene Kelly! Almost any song! Dancing along! (Singing too!)

(“It’s got to be a rose because it rhymes with toes!”)

(P.S. – the above picture is not meant to be Gene, who was too hard to draw, but Everywoman, more or less, in Gene Kelly garb.) Give it a whirl!