4 Train from Mosholu Parkway to Grand Central

o

New York is written on the walls.

This steel and electric boogaloo glides on through the sky

weaving past brick and rock

and I see it there: barely legible shout outs.

The Boogie Down is getting up.

There's no green here. No gardens. No wildlife.

But like desperate weeds I see graffiti

climbing from the cracks and achieving

its own spiritual ascension.

It creeps up the side of apartment buildings

like its own version of central park Ivy.

It settles, gathers, and thrives in little nooks

like an east village garden.

And in some places it is tended to.

Places where the lines between rich and wealthy broadens

like the hips and lips and noses and accents

of those faithful gardeners.

They take precious care of their charges.

They fertilize them regularly while talking s**t to the boys.

In the summer they let meringue play from open windows

And freestyle hip-hop from the front stoop.

Everyone knows gardens grow best when sung to.

They don't eat without eating among the Spanish Montana leaves.

They don't drink without watering the three foundations first,

Offering libations for all those that have gone before.
They care for the ever growing vines and brambles

with equally chaotic calculation;

pruning with whitewash, culling the rot

while giving reverence to the dead.

And in the spaces they make, new limbs grow stronger,

the blossoms bloom brighter,

and the graffiti gardens grow taller,

and taller,

and taller

out of the shadows.

Like everything else they strive to reach upwards.

Let Manhattan keep their copses and shaded paths.

The Village can have their occasional street corner trees

and guarded, gated gardens.

All that is fine for them who have clear days

and singing birds

and the ever present sun in people's minds.

Let them escape it if they want to.

The Bronx is so hungry for light.

Author's Note

Published in MediaVirus Magazine, Issue #1

Reviews

[cest la vie]

So you have managed to transport a reader from the south onto the streets on NYC.. Your visuals and lines have me riding shotgun with you as you stroll these roads. The grafitti gardens.. yes, so well tended and guarded and loved.
wonderful piece (It's clear why this was published-great write)

[Nicola Taylor]

I could feel it on my skin, smell it in my nose, taste it on my tongue. This is a beautiful write.

[Brad]

shelving this as my favorite from you, having been a former new yorker...this one had all the flavors of home...i did a simular piece on L.A.

[Alessander]

They care for the ever growing vines and brambles

with equally chaotic calculation;

pruning with whitewash, culling the rot

while giving reverence to the dead.

And in the spaces they make, new limbs grow stronger,

the blossoms bloom brighter,

THis is the middle stuff that I found was a bit too rhetorical - The extended analogy makes sense - it's good in itself - it's consistent - but it seems too much artiface and I think blunts the edge of the work.

As for the references, I wouldn't worry too much about those - whether it's a reference (or allusions/symbolism/irony) to a Spray Can or Ancient Philosopher - if the poem is good, the reader will do the footwork.

I once did a parody of Frost's "Two Roads Diverged in the Yellow Woods" which taught me that - it was clever- it was a metaphyscal extended analogy of hell set in the real hell of being stuck in L.A. traffic! it was useless lol It wasn't all that good without the cleverness.

Anyhow, these are mere suggestions. You'll prob get other reviews that will argue the exact opposite....

[I.R.]

This is a wonderful echo to the Modernist poetry of Ginsberg and Pound, but with relevant sensibilities and our concept of urbanity. Your imagery climbs and moves along as the graffiti you describe. The visuals and sounds you provide us are great. The garden motif never becomes exhausting. The last line lifts off the poem like a sigh. It's simply great work.

[Alessander]

prob the best poem i read on this site, thus far. And if you know me, you know that's high praise.

A lot of details, and you obviously mastered the balancing act of the concrete and the abstract:

I see graffiti

climbing from the cracks and achieving

its own spiritual ascension.



the clever play of words "fertilizing...talking s**t"

this is an urban celebration, ala Baudalaire

The contrast between Manhatten, the Village and the Bronx is not lost - but then again, it's easy to pick on the rich and snobby and seranade the poor lol

the inventory in the middle section clutterred the poem a bit (if you want to know what parts specifically, message me).

And the ending is GREAT. not good, Great. It really transcends the socio-political and lifts this poem up into another sphere.

Awesome write. Look foward to reading your other stuff.

[Doctor JKC]

I know most of the tiny spots south of 14th Street.
They are clever and cooling.

Excellent work!
Dr. Callaghan

[Erin Lee]

amazing! the first line had me hooked. i was there, even though i've never been. thank you!