Good and Bad Come from New York City
They say good and bad things come in threes. Sometimes even things which seem bad at first may have good outcomes, which we cannot appreciate until an understanding presents itself. Other times, things that seem bad to one may, in fact, seem good to another and certainly visa versa.
Here is one such story. Last week two friends and I spent three days in New York City, a town that goes by three words in its name. One seeming hardship were the three days each of us spent away from our loved ones. But maybe our loved ones needed a break from us, and maybe visa versa.
There comes a time in every relationship where to gain a fresh appreciation of one another, we must get a fresh perspective and appreciation of ourselves. For, this is what makes us continually attractive: when we are strong and confident inside from what we have gained from experience.
Sometimes, perspective becomes new when different environs present themselves. It is true for most people, and it is especially true for artists. I can speak for myself as a poet and photographer in saying that new surroundings serve as inspiration for new ideas and fresh metaphors for expressing both the universal and the personal.
Since we had promised ourselves to see different parts of NYC than our usual photographic haunts in Greenwich Village, my friends and I decided to go up the Empire State Building, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, and visit Coney Island.
I haven't downloaded any of the photos from our excursion at this writing, but images are roiling in my poetic brain. I saw bits of humanity so degrading, I could not photograph them without taking what last bit of dignity each had. I encountered scenes so engrossing that I was sure I was witnessing short film after short film.
Let me attempt a poem on the fly. A poem in three stanzas, three lines each.
View From Atop the City
In the fountain on Washington Square,
children baptize themselves in summer fun,
while adults seek salvation in the shade.
Blocks away a drunken woman wobbles, falls,
drowning in the street, as people cell for help
and hurry on, each starring in their own story.
Across the river, beyond the bowels of Brooklyn,
Coney Island barkers entice the human torrent
on its trek to the beach, strutting and dancing by.
Oh, heck, here's another.
Crossing Brooklyn Bridge
Cables seem to net the cityscape and water,
a web of braided steel above suspended hearts,
trapping souls in glass and concrete and clouds.
Jagged lives entwine, passing to and from Manhattan;
accents and dialects, faces and outfits, weave a human knot:
a miracle of peace in the heat of spending time tightly wound.
Civility twists both residents and visitors in a bond
of humility and awe, to touch the history of monument\
to what we can accomplish when desire and necessity wed.
Yikes, I guess I have to write a third one now!
Coney Island Fever
Nathan's hot dogs sustain the subway weary
as they merge with numberless revelers,
board walkers, musicians, and gawkers.
Rides and games, dancers and posers, a dizzying swirl,
sunburned crowds and shaded ladies in Sunday hats,
dads slinging video cameras, recording their little girls.
"Shoot the Freak" with its live human targets,
a makeshift cabana beckons passerby dancers---
all caught in the countercurrent of a human river.
There you have it. A risk. Three first drafts, three stanzas each. Good or bad? Who's to say? Three memories freshly spilled on the page. Be kind in your critique.
Please send comments and your poetry to michaeljhoover@gmail.com. Remember, you are all invited to the Guthrie Memorial Library, Hanover's Public Library Wed. night at 6:00 for a poetry reading by local teen poets.
They say good and bad things come in threes. Sometimes even things which seem bad at first may have good outcomes, which we cannot appreciate until an understanding presents itself. Other times, things that seem bad to one may, in fact, seem good to another and certainly visa versa.
Here is one such story. Last week two friends and I spent three days in New York City, a town that goes by three words in its name. One seeming hardship were the three days each of us spent away from our loved ones. But maybe our loved ones needed a break from us, and maybe visa versa.
There comes a time in every relationship where to gain a fresh appreciation of one another, we must get a fresh perspective and appreciation of ourselves. For, this is what makes us continually attractive: when we are strong and confident inside from what we have gained from experience.
Sometimes, perspective becomes new when different environs present themselves. It is true for most people, and it is especially true for artists. I can speak for myself as a poet and photographer in saying that new surroundings serve as inspiration for new ideas and fresh metaphors for expressing both the universal and the personal.
Since we had promised ourselves to see different parts of NYC than our usual photographic haunts in Greenwich Village, my friends and I decided to go up the Empire State Building, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, and visit Coney Island.
I haven't downloaded any of the photos from our excursion at this writing, but images are roiling in my poetic brain. I saw bits of humanity so degrading, I could not photograph them without taking what last bit of dignity each had. I encountered scenes so engrossing that I was sure I was witnessing short film after short film.
Let me attempt a poem on the fly. A poem in three stanzas, three lines each.
View From Atop the City
In the fountain on Washington Square,
children baptize themselves in summer fun,
while adults seek salvation in the shade.
Blocks away a drunken woman wobbles, falls,
drowning in the street, as people cell for help
and hurry on, each starring in their own story.
Across the river, beyond the bowels of Brooklyn,
Coney Island barkers entice the human torrent
on its trek to the beach, strutting and dancing by.
Oh, heck, here's another.
Crossing Brooklyn Bridge
Cables seem to net the cityscape and water,
a web of braided steel above suspended hearts,
trapping souls in glass and concrete and clouds.
Jagged lives entwine, passing to and from Manhattan;
accents and dialects, faces and outfits, weave a human knot:
a miracle of peace in the heat of spending time tightly wound.
Civility twists both residents and visitors in a bond
of humility and awe, to touch the history of monument\
to what we can accomplish when desire and necessity wed.
Yikes, I guess I have to write a third one now!
Coney Island Fever
Nathan's hot dogs sustain the subway weary
as they merge with numberless revelers,
board walkers, musicians, and gawkers.
Rides and games, dancers and posers, a dizzying swirl,
sunburned crowds and shaded ladies in Sunday hats,
dads slinging video cameras, recording their little girls.
"Shoot the Freak" with its live human targets,
a makeshift cabana beckons passerby dancers---
all caught in the countercurrent of a human river.
There you have it. A risk. Three first drafts, three stanzas each. Good or bad? Who's to say? Three memories freshly spilled on the page. Be kind in your critique.
Please send comments and your poetry to michaeljhoover@gmail.com. Remember, you are all invited to the Guthrie Memorial Library, Hanover's Public Library Wed. night at 6:00 for a poetry reading by local teen poets.