Sunday, June 16, 2024

My New Jersey Trilogy

So Friday night, as they say, I did a thing.

I read -- well, did my best to "perform" -- one of my poems at the Hamilton Arts Festival showcase at the Great Falls Center, sponsored by the Paterson Performing Arts Development Council.

The short trilogy is mashup of two revised older works with a new poem in between, and I tried out a draft in front of a warm and encouraging group of poets earlier at The Platform, an open mic hosted by Arts by the People on the first Wednesday of every month at the Madison Community Arts Center.

The Arts Center posted about the event, and that's where I picked up the photo of me posted here.

Below is the "finished" piece. One of the get-to-know-you prompts at The Platform was "describe your writing routine," to which I responded: "I write, then I rewrite."

"My New Jersey Trilogy" is not as random as it seems, given my obsessive style. It is exactly 500 words; Annabel is mentioned three times in each of the three sections; I invoke an incantation to raise the dead; and "Thunder Road Revisited" is structured in six verses and a bridge, like the song itself. Perhaps most importantly, it's not factually "The Confessions of a White Widowed Male." My wife of 38 years was there to support me in Paterson.


Scenic overlook at Garret Mountain

My New Jersey Trilogy

(For your consideration…)


Three related scenes with references to three favorite writers:

Edgar Allan Poe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Bruce Springsteen.

It all begins with Annabel, my wife of 38 years, scanning

People magazine after sunset in our suburban living room.

 

Scene 1.  Thunder Road Revisited


Under the spotlight

of a table lamp,

Annabel sprawls across her favorite chair.

 

Her right leg hangs over the armrest,

like Hyman Roth in “The Godfather: Part 2,”

a movie we saw long ago when we lived across the river.

 

On this night, my wife is reading

that Julia Roberts’ favorite lyrics

are from a Springsteen song.

 

Show a little faith; there’s magic in the night.

You ain’t a beauty but, hey, you’re alright.

 

“He could only have written that song

when he was young,” says Annabel.

“It’s filled with so much passion.”

 

So I look her in the eye,

cross the room to her side, and turn out the light,

revealing an ordinary night.

 

I bow to steal a kiss

and take Annabel by the hand.

 “Baby,” I say, “let’s go for a drive.”

 

 

Scene 2.  Gatsby in Paramus

 

It’s been one year since Annabel died...

I wait alone for my eye exam in the showroom

of Cohen’s Fashion Optical at the mall.

 

Surrounded by 100 sets of spectacles,

I begin to write a poem

about my life and my bride.

 

When a man with a blood-stained hole in his back

appears from nowhere,

sits right beside me, and peers over my shoulder.

 

“It’s about my darling Annabel,” I explain.

“I know,” the man replies, his breath stinking of death,

“But I wouldn’t ask too much of her…”

 

He gestures toward a flickering spectral shade

under the fluorescent green Ray-Ban display.

“I’ve learned, Old Sport, that you can’t repeat the past.”

 

“Can’t repeat the past? Why, of course you can,”

I cry, incredulous and defiant,

in the face of 200 vacant billboard eyes.

 

Why, I possess the power to conjure


when I write.

When I write,

when I write,

 

Annabel’s ghost can be revived.

 

 

Scene 3.  Scenic Overlook at Garret Mountain

 

This is a dangerous place to stand:

Cliffside in Paterson, in the descending dusk.

 

Past the highway at my feet, across the Hudson,

a dizzying view materializes in the Emerald City skyline:

 

I see… a housefly… alight…

on my Annabel’s thigh.

 

It’s 40 years ago, yet I clearly see my bride languidly napping

in the bedroom of our old apartment in New York.

 

The fly rubs its hands, obsessed, plotting its next move,

until shooed in a flash by a dismissive twitch of Annabel’s flesh.

 

Decades disappear, just as fast,

as cars on Route 80 flee to the west.

 

I show a little faith.

I face to the east.


Blinding orgastic lights cast shadows

on that fresh green breast of the new world.

 

I catch my breath on this precipice,

these wounds dark and deep.

 

40 years later,

across the sounding sea…


With so much passion for Annabel,

I still watch her while she sleeps.



---------



As a postscript, since I'm posting this on Father's Day 2024... and just to remind my poetic self how common I am... I offer this New Yorker cartoon by Ali Solomon.

🙂

Tuesday, June 4, 2024

Why Is June 4, 2024, Important?

Today would have been Anne Bunce's 96th birthday, and the 69th anniversary of Msgr. Julian B. Varettoni's ordination.

Anne was married to Thomas Patrick Cullinane, who would have been 100 last month. His name is memorialized twice on this monument to firefighters in Newark, NJ.

May their memory be eternal.

Thursday, May 30, 2024

Two Upcoming Events Celebrating Bergen County History

The Lustron Home in Closter

1. Tour a Porcelain-Enameled Steel Lustron Home in Closter, June 2

This event posted on Craigslist looks interesting enough on its own:
"Why did the NY Times call Haworth a "concrete town" in 1907? Learn the answer on a historical house tour sponsored by the Friends of the Haworth Library, Sunday, June 2, 1-5 PM...featuring 6 of Haworth's early "concrete houses, PLUS the all-metal Lustron house in Closter."
Wait. "The all-metal Lustron house in Closter"?
I couldn't wait. So I ventured to Closter on a recent Saturday, and caretaker Mike Pisano was kind enough to give me a tour and let me take these photos.
You can read all about the history of the Lustron home at this Closter Historic Preservation Commission page, so I'll let these images speak for themselves. The house, located at 421 Durie Ave., has a Bergen County Historical Society marker out front that states:
"To ease post WWII housing shortages, the Lustron Corp. of Ohio made a unique house of all pre-fabricated steel parts on an assembly line basis and shipped them directly to owners' lots. Harold Hess purchased a Westchester Deluxe model with attached garage from an NJ dealer and assembled it on this site in 1950. All walls, roof and chimney are porcelain-enameled steel panels. Between 1948 and 1950, Lustron made 2,498 homes."
Only nine such houses survive throughout New Jersey.
---------

2. Honoring Jack Antonoff and Ruth Beiner in New Milford, June 7

This Facebook post from the New Milford Historic Preservation Commission is promoting its June 7 Hall of Fame dinner at the local/historic/nostalgic Athletic Club.

Of particular interest, the post references an eclectic mix of famous people who at one time or another lived in New Milford (aka, "The Birthplace of Bergen County").

This local Hall of Fame includes The Fontane Sisters (who often sang with Perry Como); Joe Regalbuto (the actor who portrayed Frank Fontana on "Murphy Brown"); two-time Tony Award nominee Rob McClure; football star and actor Ed Marinaro; and Jack Antonoff, the Grammy winning producer who has worked with Taylor Swift, Lana Del Rey, Lorde, and Bruce Springsteen.

While Jack can't attend the June 7 dinner because he's on tour, this event is an opportunity to honor some current great (and locally famous) contributors to the community, such as Ruth Beiner, a teacher at New Milford High School who has produced its spring musical for two decades.

The deadline for reserving tickets is end-of-day tomorrow, Friday, May 31. One interesting give-away will be "New Jersey Go Fish!" -- a card game designed by Alex Flannery in partnership with Jersey Collective. To find out more about the imagery chosen for the cards, visit https://www.jerseycollective.org/gofish

Meanwhile, I hear there's a bowling alley and wood-paneled bar at the unassuming-on-the-outside Athletic Club on Boulevard, so you know where I'll be on the 7th!


Tuesday, May 14, 2024

A Bouquet of Haikus in April in New Jersey

This post is all about poets, organizations, and events in New Jersey... all who inspired me to write a poem a day during Poetry Month in April.

I even read one poem -- a mashup of a dozen haikus -- at two open mics. One reading was virtual, thanks to Project Write Now's Friday Zoom, and the other was in real life at the mic pictured here, thanks to poet Toney Jackson.

Toney hosts warm, welcoming poetry readings monthly at the Puffin Cultural Forum in Teaneck. I recommend attending the next one: Friday, May 31, at 7 p.m. (details at the link).

I also enjoyed some pro-level poets reading from their work at the Poetry Month event hosted by Talena Lachelle Queen in late April at The Paterson Museum. Talena is Paterson's poet laureate, and pictured below is Teaneck's poet laureate, Scott Pleasants, performing one of his works, with Jersey City's former poet laureate, Rashad Wright, interpreting his words in the wings.

All the poets were wonderful, including Felicia Sherelle, who often helps Talena in running programs and events for the great Paterson-based Word Seed Inc. organization.

Thanks to their efforts... and many more throughout the state... poetry is alive and well in New Jersey, every month of the year.


A Dozen Haikus for Poetry Month in April 2024


1. Dedication


Hi, Toney Jackson.

Thank you, I feel welcome here.

I feel inspired.


2. NYC Subway Haiku


My hands slip inside

Her orange bomber jacket.

Ghosts on the A Train.


3. Attending a Poetry Festival


Lost in Dobbs Ferry,

where Westchester poets hide.

I seek to destroy.


4. Eclipse Haiku


Please remember us

in 2079.

We were once like you


5. I’d Trip at the End of the Universe


Fall into the void,

Bounce from the edge of a star,

Break eternal love.


6. Haiku to My Wife


I drink beer alone.

I only drink wine with you.

I like wine better.


7. Along the New Jersey Turnpike


Wood trellis crosses

Fill barren raspberry fields.

Golgotha in Spring.


8. Haiku Written at Citi Field


The Mets in April,

warming my heart in the cold.

Unlike October.


9-11. Love Is, A Haiku Trilogy


Love is a zombie.

A zombie with a warm heart.

Pulsing. Cheating death.


Love is regretful.

Sorrow that ages like wine.

Full of scorpions.


Love is not jealous.

Love is patient. Love is kind.

Claims Corinthians.


12. Goodbye


Writer’s block is real. 

My ordinariness, revealed. 

This is not a poem.


Sunday, April 7, 2024

The Return of Poetry Month: Lost in Westchester

Yesterday, at the Tarrytown Reservoir

April is, of course, Poetry Month -- a fact that should strike fear and wonder into the hearts of anyone reading this blog.

I am, of course, once again, following a random poetry prompt to write a poem each day in April 2024. Some of the poems will undoubtedly wind up here because I consider myself in the Prehistoric Man phase of my poetic path. My MacBook Air provides durable pigments, and this blog provides the walls of a cave that will go undiscovered for melleniums.

Yesterday, I sought inspiration at the Westchester Poetry Festival. My ticket claimed the festival would be held  at the Hudson Valley Writers Center at Philipse Manor Station in Sleepy Hollow. Which turned out to be deserted when I arrived. I didn't take this as a metaphor. I didn't take this as a practical joke or as a sign I was unwanted. No, I persisted.

A flyer at the haunted train station informed me that the festival was instead being held in Dobbs Ferry, a mere 6 miles away as the foreboding crow flies, but a 25-minute odyssey amid winding roads and long stop lights in weekend Westchester traffic.

I eventually arrived there. There, being The Masters School, a complex of buildings surrounding a crowded playing field, which was absurdly trafficked and crowded despite seemingly no athletic event in progress. Then again, perhaps it was track and field.

Still, I persisted. I found the festival, which looked like this from above:


I enjoyed myself There. I ate free cookies and brownies. The poets informed, provoked, and inspired me. Arriving back home, I prompted myself to create my own "writing prompt" poem. This:

A Dozen Poetry Prompts Inspired by a Visit to the Westchester Poetry Festival

 

1.        The Tony Soprano Rest Area on the New Jersey Parkway is under constant renovation. Is there a poem you are constantly revising? Why, and when do you think it will be finished?

2.        Consider the beauty of the bird-of-prey wingspan of the Tappan Zee Bridge. What work of architecture inspires you? Animate or personify it.

3.        Imagine you are lost in Dobbs Ferry, New York. Are you anxious, frustrated, reminded of a recurring nightmare? Write about your emotions.

4.        While driving and still lost, you approach a scenic waterfall and reservoir in Tarrytown. Do you pull over to admire it, perhaps take a photo? Why or why not?

5.        The site the festival isn’t clearly marked amid a complex of school buildings. You chance to see an old man in a skull cap with an oversized scarf draped around his shoulders walk out of one building, so you decide to enter where he exited. Describe someone you would suspect is leaving a poetry festival.

6.        The festival’s location is indeed a seemingly abandoned mansion. Write about a place or a person you think has been abandoned. What meaning does this place or person hold for you?

7.        Arrive at intermission. The MC advises that student poets have already read their works and the “Capital P” poets will soon read from their books, for sale at the table near the refreshments. Write about the difference between a poet and a Poet, or about an intermission in your life.

8.        Louise Gluck wrote a promotional blurb for one Poet’s book. What poet or Poet, living or dead, would you want to review your work? What do you hope he or she would write?

9.        Imagine that you are a Poet who teaches literature. Write a poem that weaves in lines or images from Shakespeare’s “King Lear” or Checkhov’s “Gooseberries.” Alternately, write a poem about Donald Trump without mentioning “Donald Trump.”

10.  One Poet reads a ghazal poem, (pronounced “ghuzzle” although you hear “huzzle”). You are meant to hear a repeating rhyme or phrase at the end of each of at least five couplets of the same length. Write a ghazal about love, human or divine.

11.  One Poet didn’t show up. Write about someone who didn’t show up for you. What was the cost to you, to them?

12.  One Poet was inspired by this fortune cookie: “We are made to persist. That is how we know who we are.” Open a fortune cookie. Write a poem.

 

First thing this morning, on the Seventh Day of Poetry Month, I received this prompt in email from Another Poet (say hi to Dimitri):


I promptly scratched this into the wall of my virtual cave:

Lost in Dobbs Ferry,

where Westchester poets hide.

I seek to destroy.