Dear Bleaders,
How’re things? By me they’re pretty good. The sun, of late, has brightened my cold dark heart a bit, let a little light into the eternal dungeon of the winter's mind. I’ve got some seeds and seedlings into our patch of dirt: broccoli, tomatoes, scallions, basil, eggplant, corn, and I’m looking forward to the tending as much as the eventual harvest. Today is chilly and dim with laden clouds, but for the gardener, rain takes on a sweeter threat.
I’m offering today a poem by Mark Bibbins whose fabulous books are
Sky Lounge and
The Dance of No Hard Feelings. I love this one because it looks at a city with the smart eyes of someone who has seen it change, and changed with it.
Apology to This Neighborhood, the Two Before, the Next
Hipsters get to say
at least I’m not trendy
and the trendy turn
it around and they’re
right too. People go
to nightclubs. They
stand outside, freezing,
wearing more perfume than
clothing, and shriek until
the cops come on
horseback and close
down the street. Insert
terrible things here about
we all get what someone
else pays for. Too bad
I never cared enough
about Chelsea
but nobody could
have made it better
than Schuyler anyway
so why bother. Yes
we’re part of the problem
wherever we go
and it’s the only way
we manage to be punctual,
showing up just in time
for the real decline.
- Mark Bibbins
One reason it is good to be older is that the history of places runs through your mind when you walk around, especially if you live in a city like New York that changes all the time. Of course it’s hard to see Chelsea no longer what Chelsea used to mean, and the East Village no longer what the East Village used to be, but it is good to know the morphing pulse of the city you live in. As they often do, Bibbins’s poem here has a comical voice and weary eyes, and a wise awareness of what his own presence brings to the place he is discussing, even to the point of our showing up bringing on the final real decline -- but we know it’s not all decline since it’s a good thing the poet showed up.
My camera broke last year and I didn’t replace it until recently. I put the old memory card into the new body and there were pictures from a year ago and the kids were smaller and all the objects in the house were shifted. Time is a crazy arrow. Nothing to do but cultivate the garden and try to not let the world whittle you down as you go.
Courage my friends! Don’t kill yourself and I shall return to encourage you again.
Love,
Jennifer
Time is a crazy arrow. (!) Thank you.
Posted by: Amy Holman | May 07, 2013 at 05:24 PM