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Zuccotti Park – Morning After Clearing – 11/15/11

November 15, 2011

Whew. Just walked by Zuccotti Park. And I take back a lot of this morning’s post. I don’t know what Bloomberg should have done–tents were probably not a great idea. I can understand the concern that in an age of “see something, say something,” a bunch of tents in a public square can pose genuine security threats.

But what’s happening this morning is very scary. The police presence is overwhelming. I’m talking hundreds of cops in riot gear, vans and vans. (My pictures really can’t convey the feeling of the park.)

The protesters left are gamely trying to march up Liberty Street, very hemmed in, chanting. (One girl with a prosthesis, older people, all kinds of people.)

They are surrounded in addition to the police by so many people with cameras, press, passers-by. Brokers have come out to watch. Tourists don’t quite know what they are doing in the middle of it. STreet is shaking with the chant of protesters and also, well, a sense of fear. Maybe Bloomberg’s idea is to avoid confrontation through a crushing police presence, I don’t know, but it is awful to see. I’m still shaking inside.

To be fair, my only personal confrontation with a policeman was his telling me to watch out for the red light stop sign–i.e. get out of the middle of Broadway till the light changed.

And the police, in general, seem disciplined, undaunted by picture taking. No one is trying to stop anyone from doing that, as you can see below.

The thing is that there are just so many of them. It’s hard to convey the scene in iPhone pictures, but here are some.

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Categories: New York City, news, Uncategorized
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Clearing Zuccotti Park – Tents Down

November 15, 2011

I find it very hard to assess my feelings about police clearing out Zuccotti Park, a place I walk by twice a day.

I have to say that the movement seemed to have changed lately.  Yes, there were some very serious people–the union guy with the hard hat–and the knitters–but it also seemed to have gotten seedier, with lots and lots of flat-out panhandlers.  One guy in particular was a bit creepy–he used a kitten as a prop in collecting “donations.”   (The way he clutched it, one hand out, honestly made me feel a little sick.)   (Although not nearly as sick as another guy this weekend hustling tourists a few blocks away at Ground Zero–he was dressed like a bronzed statue of a 9/11 fire fighter.)

The raggedness of the park was oddly much exacerbated by the change from daylight savings time.  Very early in the evening, the area, though incredibly crowded, became also incredibly dark, a kind of crowded darkness you rarely come by in the City.

That said, I was never afraid walking through it or around it (though I was annoyed by the drumming.)  But hey, I’m a New Yorker.  This means I rarely feel truly threatened by people.   (It’s bombs and airplanes I’m worried about.)

So, did Kelly and Bloomberg do the right thing?  I just don’t know.  On the one hand, it seems harsh.  On the other, well, I know a lot of residents who were totally fed up, especially people with children.

Were there fire and safety concerns?  Undoubtedly.

Were their concerns about serious crime?  Well, sure, but the place was surrounded by police.  (That said, all those fortified tents in the dark are surely things that make policemen nervous, regardless of first amendment rights.)

Was it a cost for the City?  Well, sure–see paragraph above.

Bloomberg says protests can go on, but without tents.  It will be interesting to see.

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Magpie Tales (91) – Villanelle to Wandering Mind

November 13, 2011

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I am posting this in response to the prompt of Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.  Tess posts an interesting photo each week.  Because I like to use my own art work (except the current header landscape by Jason Martin), I’ve redone the photo (more or less).

In this case, due to the chaotic conditions of this particular November day, I’m cheating a bit, in that my poem below does not completely fit with the photo, and is also a poem  that I have posted before.  (But what’s cheating in love and poetry? Ummm… not a great thing.  Sorry.)

Still, it is an interesting poem, and although I think it belongs to the image of an older female–i.e. one about my own age–it does describe a certain twilit mental crossroads (one without clear signposts, and perhaps, several empty chairs.)

Villanelle to Wandering Brain

Sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way
and must make do with words that are in reach
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day,

when what it craves is crimson, noon in May,
the unscathed verb or complex forms of speech.
But sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way

and calls the egg a lightbulb, plan a tray,
and no matter how it search or how beseech
is pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

I try to make a joke of my decay
or say that busy-ness acts as the leech
that makes my mind feel like it’s lost its way,

but whole years seem as spent as last month’s pay,
plundered in unmet dares to eat a peach—
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

There is so much I think I still should say,
so press poor words like linens to heart’s breach,
but find my mind has somehow lost its way
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Comments: 23 Comments

Two Weeks of Black Eye

November 12, 2011
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Not really how it looks (and I made it small to be less gross!)

Today I finish my second week with a black eye.  (It resulted from my pointed indifference to Sir Isaac Newton.)

A black eye, if the eye itself is not injured, does not change how you physically look at the world, but it definitely changes the way the world looks at you.

Women, after a few thoughtful glances, give you their seats in the subway.

Men (sorry!) look at you quizzically.  They are sure something is wrong, but can’t seem to figure out exactly what it is.  (They can’t quite see around your eyeglass lens.)

Children stare at you with an intensity that (one would think) was reserved for burn victims.   Your sympathy for those with serious visible infirmities increases immeasurably under such stares.  Winking at the children does no good.

Your face in the mirror freaks you out.  Even more than usual.  It’s not just that you’re way older than expected, your eye also reminds you of a dog’s, i.e. spotted.

Friends from poor and rural cultures tell you, with sincere relief, how lucky you are that the eye itself was undamaged.  You feel suddenly silly to worry about whether the marks will go completely away.

In fact, after the purple deepens, it fades.

Categories: Uncategorized, Vicissitudes of Life
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Veteran’s Day – Flash 55 (“Enlisted”)

November 11, 2011

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Thinking of Veteran’s Day today.  This is also a post for Friday Flash 55.  (Tell it to the G-Man.)

Enlisted

What they carry–
the risk of not coming back,
or coming back different;

of being killed,
maimed;
killing, maiming;
coming back
different;

love/hate.
not-necessarily-hate/gun/mission,
training/sweetness/
us.

Somebody’s got to do it.

The risk of coming back
some body.

Know somebody now
joined up.
May he stay
joined,
up,
himself.

PS – I’ve slightly edited the poem since first posting this morning.  (Almost all the poems I post are drafts, so changes are needed.)  Kept to the 55 words though!

 

PPS – I wanted to fit a little more love into the poem, but have been a bit constrained by the 55 word limit.  I do want to take this opportunity to send love, thanks and blessings to all veterans on this day and every day.

 

Categories: iPad art, poetry, Uncategorized
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Prose to Poem (Plagiarism too?) (“Time Times Time”)

November 10, 2011

Solar Powered Timekeeper?

The wonderful dVerse Poets Pub, hosted today by Zsa of the zumpoets site, presents a very interesting challenge for participating poets–the conversion of prose to poetry.  The idea is to make the prose, someone else’s (and hopefully not under copyright) into, more or less, your own poem (or an amalgam of youand the prose writer.)

I copped mine from good old Charles Dickens.

 

Time Times Time

It was the best and worst–it
was time.  It was
time times time–it
was age.   Of
wisdom/foolishness
epic; belief (aching incredulity);
Light seasoned by
Darkness; where hope
winters, despair
springs, and everything before us
feels
like nothing; a time 
we go direct
to Heaven
only
if there’s no
other way.

Here’s the true text, from the opening of A Tale of Two Cities:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – “

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Magpie Tale (Pantoum)

November 6, 2011

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The drawing above is based on the prompt of Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales, which was a photograph from a cemetery.  The photograph offered a lot of possibilities; my poem is a pantoum about a funeral, the differing feelings (from numbness to grief) that go through one’s brain at such an event.

What Funerals Are For

I worried that I might not be able to stop
the posturing that shaped my busy mind—
all I’d see, all whom I might know,
imagined encounters over funeral supper wine.

The posturing, the shape of busy mind,
dwarfed the Jesus-coated windows, babes in stone,
(imagined encounters over Last Supper wine)
when fingers touching lid, they led it down.

Dwarfing the Jesus-coated windows, babes in stone,
a block of wood, of over-polished grain,
as fingers touching lid, they led it down,
pulling with it, a winding sheet of weighty pain.

A block of wood, of over-polished grain—
I knew she couldn’t breathe there, that she’d no more breath
pulling within a winding sheet of weighty pain,
weeping without will, without relief.

I knew she couldn’t breathe there, that she’d no more breath,
and all I saw, all whom I might know,
weeping without will, without relief.
I worried that I might not be able to stop.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Poetics – Color Poem (Or Monochromatic One) Maybe

November 5, 2011

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I am still supposedly working on Nanowrimo, but I wrote a poem in my head yesterday, and it happens to fit in (sort of) with dVerse Poets Pub Poetics prompt of the day (hosted by Victoria of liv2write2day.blogspot), which is to write a poem using color.

Date

“It’s hurting me”, she whispered,
“I want it to hurt,” he said.
Later, she lay on a bathroom floor,
its hard checkered tiles,
the only black and white
In the whole situation.

 

After posting the above poem, I thought of a different variation that I like better I think as it has more of a moral compass.  Here it is.

 

Date

“It’s hurting me”, she whispered,
“I want it to hurt,” he said.
Later, she lay on a bathroom floor,
its hard checkered tiles,
the only black and white
in the entire world.

 

 

Any suggestions welcomed!

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 21 Comments

Friday Flash 55 – 99 Percent at Downtown NYC Subway Station

November 4, 2011

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Varying Percentages At Fulton Street Station

Yesterday, cop at the subway by Occupy Wall Street dressed as a hippie.  Today, the guy wears plain clothes; i.e. his uniform.

He got two occupiers though, fare-skippers, thoughtful faces hangdog now, betrayed; victory in his stance, scribbling–as he mumbles ‘sorry’–tickets.

Just behind, tourist wedges around the turnstile, card outspent, confused, unseen.

I am telling this 55 word story (minus) title to the G-Man, also to Occupy Wall Streeters who get on the train at the Fulton Street Station, usually with metro cards, but sometimes perhaps without.  The station looks abandoned at the bottom entrance;  it isn’t.

Categories: New York City, Uncategorized
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Comments: 11 Comments

Man’yoshu Poetry? (What’s that?) With Ladybug

November 3, 2011

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I swore to myself (and this blog) that I would devote at least some of this month to a modified Nanowrimo of revising old manuscripts.  But… it’s really hard to get the steam up for a long project mid-work-week.  So, instead, here is my contribution to dVerse Poets “Form For All” Night, which today focuses on Man’yoshu poetry, a form of Japanese Poetry that includes variations dedicated to love/longing. There is a wonderful exposition of this particular tradition written by “Lady Nyo” a/k/a Jane Kohut-Bartels, that can be found here.

I’m afraid my picture turned out better than my poem, but here’s my own rough attempt:

Ladybug On Navy Shawl

A ladybug, deep
orange, lands on the navy
of my paisleyed shawl;
mountains uplift the view but,
because I cannot
see through eyes that turn green when
faced with color, I
mean, your eyes, all here pales, and
my mind looks past the
now to times when you watched it
with me, when the here,
because you were there, held such
wonders always, your quick breaths.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 20 Comments

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