Category: Arts & Culture
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Willie G. and the Street Poets of New York
Update: Wille G. passed away yesterday, 07 April 2015. May his poetic soul Rest in Peace. Before I met Willi G no one had ever tried to sell poetry to me on the street. Paintings, prints, photography, statuary and every manner of trinket, yes. Poetry, no. Willi approached me as I ascended out of Bethesda Terrace, introduced… Read more
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Revelations of a Naked Teapot
Somewhere between their tenth and eleventh year, my two youngest got their prudishness on. They’re learning about human sexuality at school, in health class or whatever they call it these days. They’re well aware of what the mature human form looks like, and we’ve always spoken frankly about its function (and quirks), but now the naked… Read more
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Bill Cunningham Facades
Unless you’re a regular reader of The New York Times or part of the city’s high society or fashion elite, it’s possible – even probable – that you’ve never heard of Bill Cunningham. Bill has been described as a “pixie on a bicycle,” riding around the streets of New York in his fail-safe uniform of khakis… Read more
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When Spring Comes
Stand here on the bridge with me And look down below See how high the river is From all the melting snow I think the river is laughing Like a thousand old ladies Like a thousand silver chimes in the wind ~ Jane Siberry, “When Spring Comes” It’s physically ugly, this… Read more
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The Bells That (Really Do) Toll for Thee
And I thought how like these chimes Are the poet’s airy rhymes, All his rhymes and roundelays, His conceits, and songs, and ditties, From the belfry of his brain, Scattered downward, though in vain, On the roofs and stones of cities! For by night the drowsy ear Under its curtains cannot hear, And by day men go their ways, Hearing the music as they pass, But deeming it no more, alas! Than the hollow sound of brass. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – from Carillon, 1845 ********* Every Sunday at 9:00am, some blessed soul pulls the rope to ring the bell at the tiny Anglican church at the top of our street, gathering the congregation. On midsummer days the doors are… Read more
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Take A Smile (And Pass it On)
I have to be upfront and admit this is not my original idea. But in the spirit of stealing like an artist – and in the interest of doling out a little communal joy – I’ve posted this at our local mailboxes. After such a long, cold winter, we could all use one or two… Read more
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The Drawers of Lola Rosa
I can’t help but stare. The young waiter with curly dark hair and a pencil thin moustache is a dead ringer for my cousin, Paul, a mirror of his youthful days in the ’70’s. It’s uncanny. Turns out he’s from B.C. (we’re getting closer), but not from Kamloops, home of Paul and my extended family.… Read more
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Would You Let This Man in Your House?
And what I’ve been reminded of is this: Strangers give something, take something and create something utterly unique for each of us. They are our Scheherezades and our Solomons. They are not stones that we trip over, but the treasure we search for. Read more
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Inscription
Pierre explained that it was customary for guests to write their names on pieces of wood to mark their stash of bottles in Marco and Rod’s cave. So I’ve heard, I nodded. (A charming idea to ascribe such permanence to something so ephemeral.) But we cycled through so much wine that summer that it never… Read more
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Mnemonic: A Book of Trees – Post 5 of 5
See other posts in the series: P1 P2 P3 P4 ***** A satisfying read is dependent upon two critical components: what is read and when. Up the book comes, then down the book goes if the timing isn’t right. Released in 2011, it’s taken two years for Theresa Kishkan’s memoir, Mnemonic: A Book of Trees, to find its way to… Read more