Duck Days

Aw we begin our search for poems to expand and enrich the MTA's Poetry in Motion series, or just create our own damn series, let's establish a few criteria. The poem should be:

• Short enough to read once, preferably twice, between any two stations on a local;
• Speak to New Yorkers in some particular manner (not necessarily about New York or the subway); and
• Be provocative--intellectually, emotionally, physically, morally...

We begin where we may well end up, with Eileen Myles' "Truth." I think it meets the criteria to a a "T." Bonus: It is about riding the subway or trying to. Double bonus: It comes with its own art, courtesy of Ken and Ann Mikolowski's Alternative Press, where it appeared as bookmark in 1971 (#13). Note the imprint of the subway token. The photo below is from the Rare Books Room of the New York Public Library.

TRUTH

It's not fun
to be 31

ducking
under
the subway
turnstyle.

How quickly and elegantly this short poem gives us the experience of being young (though not so young) and without means in the city. Quite a different approach from Tracy K. Smith's "The Good Life," in the MTA series. Suddenly, that relatively short poem feels like a novel.

Lovely how the spelling of "turnstyle" rhymes with the poet's signature: Eileen Myles. I emailed the poet to ask permission to reproduce the poem here--as far as I know, the only place it has ever appeared outside of the Alternative Press issue (43 years ago!). I asked for associations she may have now with the poem. Here is her reply: "It was certainly directly out of the experience of being broke and feeling too old to bed doing what I was doing, i.e., ducking under the turnstyle for a free ride."

How old were you the last time you ducked or jumped a turnstile?

Breaking News! Kentile Signing Off?!

The New York Times and The Gothamist both reporting the iconic Kentile Floors sign in Brooklyn may be demolished, according to a permit filed with the DOB. While the company closed in 1992, the sign has remained as a symbol of Brooklyn's industrial history.

(Photo: The New York Times)

Driving on the BQE-Gowanus Expressway without the Kentile sign? Too sad to fathom. (Oddly, I've never blogged about it before this. It's always just been there.)

Gowanus X 10

Crossing the canal on the express bus always provides a view (one I have first featured on this blog in April 2011). Yesterday, around noon, a gray gulf. By the time I reached Staten Island, the sun was out.

Livin' on Chicken Noodle Soup and Wine

BTB's summer series, Poetry in Locomotion, begins today. We'll be rooting around (and underground) for poems for the MTA's Poetry in Motion series. There'll also some detours, but no derailments, we hope, for poems that celebrate (or excreate) the experience of being a subway rider. Thanks to onemorefoldedsunset for the idea!

As part of my research for the series, I asked a few people if they read the MTA's Poetry in Motion poems while riding the subway. A waitress in a cafe on East Broadway said she always enjoyed them. When I asked if she remembered any, she said, "Maybe the one about chicken noodle soup."

(Art: Amy Bennett, Heydays)

The closest I could find on the MTA's Poetry in Motion website is "The Good Life," by Tracy K. Smith (b. 1974):

While some people speak about money
They speak as if it were a mysterious lover
Who went out to buy milk and never
Came back, and it makes me nostalgic
For the years I lived on coffee and bread,
Hungry all the time, walking to work on payday
Like a woman journeying for water
From a village without a well, then living
One or two nights like everyone else
On roast chicken and red wine.

A nice poem, even if it is missing the noodles and the soup. But we can do better.

EEEEEEEE

We ride.

FREE

Roosevelt Ave., Jackson Heights. Still available, as far as I know.

Gus Gargoyle

Bakery trucks are common on the streets of New York. I caught this one out of the corner of my eye on Roosevelt Avenue. But what was that dark cloud hovering above Lady Liberty?

Closer inspection revealed this three-headed creature. A wolf, I think. The Wolf of Woodside Avenue?

I suppose it's better than the mushroom cloud Condi Rice warned us about.