representin: poems of brooklyn, my homeland, with footnotes

8/9/2019 representin: poems of brooklyn, my homeland, with footnotes

1/22


2/22

Seltzer

When I uncapped the bottle,

A comet shower

Of bubbles

Whooshed by,

Muscling water asideThen splashing into the wall

Of air

Atop the pool.


3/22

MOMA City Scape

The white mug flew

Off the table

And fell

Into the heavenly

Flecks of the floor,

Sharding the sky

With fragmented flowers,

Orb-shell splinters,

And modern sculptures.


4/22

Traffic Light

He sucked on a candy bulb

Then set it in the ring

Of his pursed lips,

Where it glowed green,

Signaling that it was OKTo go.


5/22

Futurism

Lets find a field,

Lets find a field

As yellow as

A YIELD sign,

And watch stars wink,

Watch planets blink

As constantly as

DONT WALK signs;

Then harness beetles,

Ride on beetles

As glossy as

Red Mustangs

Across the forests

To find the river

Whose pitch is likeA sparrows twang.

Then after a jaunt,

Head back to the city

That teems like

A silver mead

To climb the spires,

Scale the spires

Pointed like

Whittled reeds;

Then board a train car

And ride in that car

Like writhing along

In a snake

Out of the city

And into a garden,

To finally stop

By a lake.


6/22

Bus Ride Daydream

A Mack trailer, red and glossy, turned onto Glenwood Road.

I was in a bus, looking at it, almost head-on:

It plowed by, squeezing between the bus and the opposite cars.

Once past, it diminished and the roar faded,

But, as it was passing, I saw it as a huge shipRocking slightly- a cradle on the buoyant water

Of a tight channel.

It passed me flaunting its red, starboard side.

I felt as if I was on a log built dock,

Where log built houses sat meters away

From the clear channel;

As if a floating wooden town,

Supported by spongy trunks,

Was dipped into a stormless bay.

Then I saw the truck as a canoe,

Embroidered with suede designsAnd encrusted with precious stones.

The canoe glided along, stretching out to full length

Once beside me

Tipping gently in its unerring tubular path.

It passed and the surface waters

Split behind it like an ever-opening rose,

While winds popped the waters with clubs.


7/22

Colorful Christmas

Glowing snowflakes of red, green and white,

Falling in breezes and crisp air tonight,

From gold and purple fluorescent clouds,

Like nebulous, cotton shrouds,

While crimson embers in sparkling firesFizzle out in the suns desires


8/22

The Inspiration of the Trees

The trees bloomed in such a

Gloomy gale

That I wondered if,

Beneath the bark,

The trunks glowedPastel green.


9/22

Summer Storm

Keno Machines above,

Blow around the numbered balls

For the lottery-hail

Soon to be drawn.


10/22

Trees

The oak seemed taller than the maple-

They usually are.

Whereas maples touch the clouds,

Oaks touch the stars.


11/22

Daydreams

Never is a truer fancy wrought

Then when alone I lose myself in thought;

With pen in hand, only sad I be;

In classrooms cramped, never am I free;

My body shifts and, face it, hards and softs,As if the fancy in my head took me aloft,

And over woods and towns my body flew,

All my friends to me were in a zoo;

They couldn't see or catch my blatant stares,

Or see me sing my ballads, humming theirs'.

No they couldn't, and free from them I'd be,

As free as if I sailed on the sea,

And the waves were calm but the wind sent me my way,

And Marnie left me for a single day.


12/22

Home

Though my landscapes and characters be far flung,

Remove the scenery, props and costumes,

And what you see is my living room,

My mother and my father,

My whole house, the block I live on,All quietly there; some reading magazines,

Others mildly shocked at the unfolding of the scene.


13/22


14/22

Evening Chores

I'm so poor and happy;

He's not happy, just dreaming;

Breathes deep before he settles the garbage,

Whistles song, considers the night, the neighbors

The garbage;Eyes glancing,

Yet there were nobles whose eyes glanced about

As if they were murderers.


15/22

My Street

The trees line the street like masts;

The sky plainly elucidates the beauty of

Every texture;

The sky admires the cars, the street's face,

The hairs on every head, lawns-The wind lightly chills all of it

Like vanilla ice cream to the touch.

The lawns are cool like my cool damp cheeks.

Give to others the south, the jungle, Greece,

India, the Sahara;

Give to me my city block and its coverings.


16/22

The Gateway National Recreation Area Salt Marsh Ecosystem [or Marine Park,

Fancifully]

The earth rides slowly. The channel runs off into the marsh,

Below the shaking herons, before settling into a rocky back wash.

Three egrets noodle about the shallows, looping

Their beaks through a thin film of pondwater before piercingThe sand and fiddling their tongues for krill.

A silver sunset fails to dampen the cardinal's displeasure,

Powering it up to a shrill wattage and inviting weasels

Out like earthworms after rain,

But in search of eggs and prey.

While, fluttering about the fringes, the mantids scratch the ferny

Crisps and serpents wiggle into their sodden posts, as if a large colony

Of ant legs suggests an endless lightness,

But the delicate veil is only betrayed by its transience.

The jays eat the air as they dive along a dipping inverted arch,Like a spoon grabs up ice cream in a sweeping bow shape, such

Threatening, pendulous gestures drive the martens

Back inside their maple homes,

Wiser now, to wait till dawn.

A floating gust, reeking of icy mountaintops from far away,

Appears over the nearest hill then spills itself into the space

Electrified by yellow cottonwood and damselflies,

Hopeless ticks and washed out pigments, shutters

Only opening in reflex to the dimming sky,

Made further dark by clouds with rudders

And cherry pies.


17/22

Brooklyn 1970s

Curtains, dirty, dusty;

Schoolyards, filthy;

Traffic jams, always;

Wild dogs on the roadside, dead;

Verrezano spans away like a bridge to heaven's gateOr a very large tendon;

Stores line the roads

Like many beads

On many necklaces.


18/22


19/22

Parking Lots

They are not the same, though they stare off into the

Same rain and snow, and slowly go their cars,

Dusted with snow, which crisp fingers brush away

As hard, numbed fingers clink the key into the slot;

Then all the fingers rest for a momentIn the foggy warmth; the old engine warms a little

Longer, but soon hurls over the rainbow arc

Highway, over lodes, termites and moles,

And a flattened roll that is top spun

To oblivion by Michelin tires on the run.


20/22

Alien Invasion

A fat guy and pillow-stuffed stud

Must look for a bomb planted

To blow the city up.

A flying go cart they need,And the Empire State Lance,

To smote at a rushing spaceship

Faster than a glance.


21/22


22/22

NOTES AND ASIDES

(A) Seltzer: Fizzy Brooklyn hardcore prelude.

(1) MOMA City Scape: Scoping in on Brooklyn, breezing by Manhattan to do so,

gliding over the city like a vast, formless ghost; there is my lost homeland!

Please welcome me back.(2) Traffic Light: Even vast flying carpet-like entities afloat in space must

wait for the light.

(3) Futurism: Traffic signs, sparrows, gulls, spires, salt marsh; now we're

in the thick of my beloved city.

(4) Bus Ride Daydream: There was a lot of dreaming. People wrongly associate

blue collar neighborhoods with lack of fanciful imaginings. There was plenty.

(5) Colorful Christmas: There was an unspoken (unless you count a local

association's award as spoken) competition among many homeowners to most

garishly decorate their houses for the holidays. The results were excessive

and splendid.

(6) The Inspiration of the Trees: Brooklyn was not a barren wasteland, devoid

of the arboreal or the floral. Not at all. In fact, there was a tree in front

of almost every house in my hood. I spent many hours just staring up at thetrees. Un-full-lots-little-madness.

(7) Summer Storm: All those crazy lottery drawings, with their gumball

machines and wind turbulence, coalesced this one.

(8) Trees: Red oaks and sycamore maples lined my block. Black cherry,

starlet, sedge and spruce.

(9) Daydreams: More daydreaming; this time, in school.

(10) Home: More dusty than you might think.

(11) Evening Chores: The stars watched.

(12) My Street: Cars and trees and cool fall weather in Brooklyn.

(13) The Gateway National Recreation Area Salt Marsh Ecosystem: The Creek, as

it's called locally.

(14) Brooklyn 1970s: Flattering and pitiless. A snapshot like the sun.

(15) Parking Lot: Somewhere in Brighton Beach.

(16) Alien Invasion: Sci-Fi meets Brooklyn and Manhattan. They are searching

for the flying go cart in Brooklyn, a likely locale for such whittled

ingenuities in the 1970s.

Although I am 7 years removed from Brooklyn, my heart and senses never

forget.

Tears bleed off of me even thinking of my block and my house, my

neighborhood, everything, especially my mom.

I love you and miss you so much, mom.

We will be together again soon, dad, all of us.

Photo credits (all public domain, courtesy of the NYPL):

Cover: Unknown

Next one: Detroit Photographic Co.

Next: Lenny's and John's Pizzeria 40th Anniversary insignia

Last: Wurts Brothers

representin: poems of brooklyn, my homeland, with footnotes

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