Subway Poems

Two unexpected poems about subways! (I love google and the patterns into which it can sort information.)

Subway Wind
Claude McKay

Far down, down through the city's great, gaunt gut,
The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;
In the packed cars the fans the crowd's breath cut,
Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.
And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door
To give their summer jackets to the breeze;
Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar
Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;
Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift
Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,
Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift
Lightly among the islands of the deep;
Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white
That lend their perfume to the tropic sea,
Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night,
And the Trades float above them fresh and free.



Subway
Carl Sandburg

DOWN between the walls of shadow
Where the iron laws insist,
The hunger voices mock.

The worn wayfaring men
With the hunched and humble shoulders,
Throw their laughter into toil.




I especially love how McKay's poem--sonnet!--is so much about elements of the subway experience that don't exist anymore: those "upper door" windows (I assume he means the little ones that open at the top and hinge at the bottom?) stay closed, and I think that only the oldest trains even have them. The subway must have sounded so different, too. Before air conditioning.

Observed by Keight.

Guest entry, a text message from Keight sent Wednesday, May 21, 5:56 pm:

Just passed three people walking really, really slow just south of washington square. Made me happy.

One of Many Reasons Why I Don't Play Dodgeball

Mike's Dodgeball Injury
Originally uploaded by elissanelson

The best part is that Mike ended up at the ER getting stitches NOT because someone threw the dodgeball at him, but because he was running forward with the dodgeball trying to tag someone, and he slipped and fell literally head over heels, head first.

Fortune Teller on Grand

The fortune telling/Avon products enterprise at the corner of Grand and Leonard has closed.

On the Grand Street side, there was a fortune teller painted on the door, garish and skirted and gypsy-ish. One would enter down a short flight of steps and through the painted door, except no one ever did, that I saw. However, the Leonard side of the business was always active. A walk-up Avon window, with the Avon sales lady inside, her gray hair set and curled, and always a customer gossiping, standing outside.

Now For Rent, Call Broker:

outdoors in the wilderness

dangerous evil pest
Originally uploaded by elissanelson

Today I walked over the Brooklyn Bridge on a fieldwork trial run, then read my book next to the East River, under the Manhattan Bridge (Brooklyn side--Lauren looked horrified when I mentioned this, then I clarified and she was relieved). A dad and daughter were near me for a while, first sitting,then rock-hopping. The girl, maybe eight, asked "What's DEP stand for? It's on that rock."

Dad said, "It could be the Department of Environmental Protection."

She said, "It could be Dangerous Evil Pest."

"It could be that," he agreed.

Where I've Lived.

Megan was giving me the rundown of how many places she's lived and how many people she's lived with, and I was inspired. Here is my tally. This is such a zine-y thing.

Chicago
Hyde Park
mom and dad
the townhouse next door to Greer
mom and dad and baby sister

Minneapolis
4849 S. Vincent (the first address I had to memorize, and a crappy duplex where, as I learned years later, the upstairs neighbors stole our electricty using an extension cord and I do remember when the upstairs toilet overflowed through our bedroom ceiling and Mrs. Core the babysitter panicked)
mom dad sister
201 Valley View Place
mom dad sister
do we count dad's apartments? Bloomington, Deephaven...
then he bought the house on 54th St.

Bard
four different dorm rooms (with crazy girl, then Brenda, then by myself)

Minneapolis
the apartment with Chris and Pauline

Seattle
that apartment in Maple Leaf with three people whose names I don't remember
the apartment in Fremont with Susan

back to Bard
Tivoli with Liz and Patricia, then with Liz, Lauren and Kate in the closet
Red Hook with LJ

Portland
the shack with insane cat (who may or may not count as a roommate--but pets are not otherwise included in the above lists [Apple Annabel the second, Casey, Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Charri Barri Buchi Pip Perri Pembo, etc.] so disregard in full count please)
northeast with LJ
31st and Burnside with LJ

Brooklyn
Franklin and Hancock with the Japanese craigslist roommate--Naeko, I think?
Hancock with Laurice (also a craigslist roommate but more too) and Ruby

Syracuse
that apartment across from Thornden Park with Tiara
Sarah and Hannah and Dan's house briefly, then...
Sarah and Hannah's house for two years (except for living with Laurice in there for the brain tumor summer, plus her roommate... whose name I don't remember)

Brooklyn again
Hancock with Laurice again
Hancock with Andrea
Hancock with Nick

next Portland again


So I've had 24 homes, and I've lived with 26 different people. Assuming memory serves, and assuming we count even those people with whom I lived relatively briefly (all of them at least a month...?)

Observed.

Text message sent to Rachel on Sunday: "Wow--leggings like Sandy's in Grease!* Except in soho! Worn without irony!"




*Shiny spandex, for those of you who do not immediately have a visual image to accompany my cinematic allusion. I'm referring to "bad girl" Sandy, in the final scene.