A Walk in the Park

Today, I took my first walk through the park for this school year. Immediately upon entering, there was a jazz trio greeting me.

Then, around the corner, the Alice in Wonderland statue was, for once, not teeming with children and tourists, allowing me to snap a photo.

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And the pond was full of sailboats.

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Next, coming around the corner by the boat house, I ran across a student with her boyfriend lagging five steps behind. She seemed rather embarrassed when I said, “hi” as I passed.  I smiled.

And the smiling continued as I came into Belvedere fountain which was positively glistening in the sun.

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I took all of this as a very good omen. “It’s going to be a good year,” I thought. But then, I exited the park and discovered that the subway station is under construction.

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Two more long avenues to the next subway was not the way I wanted to end this glorious walk. Oh well, it was still lovely in the park.

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Grading Papers on a Sunny Afternoon

Sunlight on the slick clean table

Melts the edges away

Encroaching on the work

In front of me, anchored only

By a red pen that has lost

The very thing that gives it power.

Soon, if daylight keeps encroaching,

The papers will slip into the molten sea

Of the dissolved table and the coffee

Will tumble into the liquified abyss

Pouring out its heart on the fluttering wings

Of student attempts at composition and

Analysis while the bloodless pen spins

Uselessly through the void–

Unless

The setting sun retracts rather than

Advances its rays on

The evanescing table, setting it back

On terra firma, restoring the student efforts

To their fate once I procure another pen–

Though which option offers deliverance,

For them and for me,

It is impossible to say.

ABOUT THE POEM:

Feeling particularly tired yesterday on my commute home, I knew that if I read as is my wont, I would fall fast asleep and end up at the end of the line. So instead I took out my phone and starting flipping through my photos for inspiration. I came across the one above which I took last week during a particularly trying grading session at a local cafe when my pen ran out of ink. This poem is the result of photography, memory, exhaustion, and imagination, and, once I got started, a thesaurus as I became invested in using various synonyms for “melted” and “essays.”

Thomas Merton Exhibit

Yesterday, my friend Gerri and I went to a small show of 22 photographs taken by Thomas Merton, the late Trappist monk who was a poet, philosopher, author, social activist, and, apparently, a photographer. The photos are displayed in a chapel at Union Theological Seminary on 121st Street and Broadway. If you are so inclined between today and Friday, it is well worth a half hour of your time to view the photographs that at once display both the clarity of defined edges and the depth boundless meaning and focus our eyes on what we may have missed in ordinary objects. The curator paired each photo with a line or two from Merton’s writings, some hitting the mark perfectly, others less sp, but all still contemplative.

And Union Theological not only offers the photographs a meditative space in an English Gothic revivalist chapel replete with stained glass windows reminiscent early Anglican churches, but also an interior courtyard through which one passes to reach the chapel of Old English (or even Hogwartsian) beauty. And quiet. There in Manhattan, in the hustle bustle of Columbia University, there is peace.

Go if you can. Be inspired.

What Happened Here?

As I made my way through Penn Station tonight, I saw what is pictured below:

And I couldn’t help thinking, “What happened here?” There was no one sitting or laying nearby to whom these shoes could belong. And the one stray pastel sock adds another level to the mystery. Does the sock belong with the shoe? Or were there two separate foot wear incidents in such close proximity? Questions arise.

How does one leave one’s shoes behind? And in such an orderly pose? And one sock? With those colours, could that be a child’s sock? A man’s, a woman’s with a sense of whimsy? It poses a quandary.

Naturally, my writer’s brain was quickened by the unusual sight, so much so in fact that I passed the shoes, noted them, but even though I kept moving, they squirreled into my brain, so when I got a short distance away, I went back upstairs to photograph then. What is their story? Don’t you want to know?

But you do of course. It’s in your head, and mine, and hers, and his, and theirs. So here is today’s challenge, a quest perhaps: choose your genre and tell us what happened here.

Rejuvenation 

I have come to love Central Park,  or at least my little corner of it. At the end of long day of teaching and grading, there it’s really nothing so rejuvenating for me as a walk through the park. The diversity of life there brings a smile to my face — and I’m not just talking about the flowers and trees!

Welcome to today’s episode of Belvedere Fountain:

Therapy

After eleven hours straight inside one building, essentially in two rooms and the hallway and stairwell between them, I am in need of some nature therapy. Luckily, New York has my back with the beautiful Central Park.  My mile plus walk across the Park rejuvenates me on my way home, ready to stitch or sketch as the spirit moves me. 

And then the train ride home said, “Don’t forget about me.” And the sun was beginning to set over the water. It’s hard taking pictures on a moving train,  but trust me,  in person it was lovely.  

A Rose Refurbished 

A couple of Fridays ago, I had some time on my hands,  so I went to the newly refurbished Rose Reading Room at the New York Public Library. Always a beautiful space, it is now brighter and cleaner as well. It is certainly conducive to creativity and work.  And let’s admit it,  the two go hand in hand.  But surrounded by beauty and knowledge,  it is easier to engage in the search for truth.  (Support your local libraries, museums, and cultural institutions, my friends.  Tell your Congressmen to support the arts,  the NEH and the NEA.)

As I looked around the majestic room, I saw people from all walks of life immersed in all sorts of reading/writing activities: in print, online, by hand, by machine, researching,  creating, in English,  in Chinese, Spanish, French, etc. And others came in to appreciate the art and architecture, and others just to sit for a minute. It is a beautiful space that offers so much to so many.  I feel lucky to have experienced it today. And in a true New York moment,  I ran into people I know who had just stopped in to see the room!

One of the things I love about libraries is the access to the creativity of generations. Thousands, millions really, have left a little part of themselves for us to read and know. They inform, challenge, and inspire. But the Rose Reading Room of the NYPL does even more–through the beautiful architecture of the building, the space itself inspires. It is a place I love, yet definitely do not get to enough.

Musing on a topic? Stuck on a scene? Look up to the newly renovated ceiling and drift among the clouds or trace with your eyes the ornate designs. Soon, new ideas and connections will spring to mind, and your creativity will flow freely. Grab a seat and begin. I’ll see you there!

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