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 himself as The Poet of Central Park, related his struggle with poverty and made the pitch: Would I buy his poetry to help him out?

He slid a four-poem package of photocopied pages into my hand and told me how his friend took care of the copying to keep his costs down. I handed him $10 and asked him to autograph the cover. He told me he’s on the internet and surely he is:

http://vimeo.com/86536779

I asked about the economics of the poetry trade. He said business is good in the spring, summer and fall, but is dead throughout the winter. This year, being especially long and cold, he struggled to make ends meet and is still behind in his rent. Seems selling poems is cyclical while the need to sustain one’s self is constant.

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Dear Allan:

Of course there are a couple of million things going on in NYC at any given time, so, as a visitor, it is impossible to discover even a crumb of a morsel of all the good things, which includes you typing away in the midst of everything, creating poetic beauty for lucky passers-by.

I was in NYC last month but didn’t hear about you until this month. I wondered, if I sent you some cash, would you create a poem for me from afar?

I write about the relationship of people to their homes and communities, so I was there looking through that lens. It was my sixth trip to the city and I feel like a kid in a candy store every time I’m there.

Although I love the subway, my greatest pleasure is to walk everywhere. This makes it difficult to move around in a timely (efficient) way, because every ten steps there are 100 new things to see – faces, architecture, signs, colors – and as many new sounds and smells. How challenging it would be to get to know the city in any meaningful way with SO MUCH to understand (and never enough time).

I know it’s different being a visitor than living there day in, day out, and that there are trade-offs to both. Would you ever live anywhere else?

I think it’s amazingly cool what you do and would treasure one of your on-the-spot poems.

Kindest,

Andrea Cordonier
Ottawa, Ontario Canada
www.habicurious.com

http://www.allanandre.net

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Excerpt from: Quoth the Raven Poetry Circle
From the Stacks: The New York Historical Society Library Blog

Formed in 1932 by retired New York Telephone Company employee, Francis Lambert McCrudden, the Raven Poetry Circle was unveiled at an outdoor event near Washington Square Park in May of 1933. Members of this unique collection of writers were known as “Ravens” and included bohemians, published poets, students, city employees, various characters from the neighborhood and even a feline mascot named Phyllis. McCrudden held monthly poetry readings in his storefront apartment and devised a plan to sell poetry in an open market atmosphere. [pullquote]The New York Times referred to it as “the world’s first sidewalk poetry mart”.[/pullquote]

The Ravens, whose namesake and symbol stem from the classic poem by Edgar Allan Poe, held annual exhibitions in which participants tacked original copies of their poetry to a tall green wall on Thompson Street, next to a tennis court. Attendees were encouraged to purchase the poetry that hung like artwork on display for all to enjoy. Prices ranged from a nickel for the work of a lesser-known writer up to several dollars for a piece penned by one of the more popular Ravens. 

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I’m back home and am filled with questions: Why does no one here hawk their poetry on street corners? Or like strolling musicians in Europe, read their way through busy restaurants then pass the hat? Why can’t I go to a weekend farmer’s market and buy fresh sheets of new poetry alongside the fresh fruits and veg, and, best of all, hear the poets themselves giving voice to their wares?

Are we provincial, conservative or just plain embarrassed to accept our poetry in plain view? Or do our poets lack the critical audacity required by New Yorkers for survival?

Poets – I want to hear and buy your poems. All you have to do is ask.