The plan for the day was to take the R train to have lunch at Whole Foods where I like the "kids'" sandwiches and the upstairs seating, and then walk over on Warren Street to Poets House. Poets House is a poetry center with a library of some 90,000 poetry books, also with upstairs seating, this time overlooking the Hudson River. On the way after lunch, I barely looked at the window displays as I was noticing the historic buildings. Once there, for my reading matter, I chose a slim volume by W.B. Yeats. I had in mind finding a "signature" for my March e-mails as he wrote lengthy poems of antique times. You may have noticed my signatures rely heavily on the long ago and far away. The book was of his early works and I was surprised to read such a tender, short but compelling verse called A Cradle Song:
"I kiss you and kiss you,
My pigeon, my own.
Oh how I will miss you
When you are grown."
Returning from Poets House to catch the R subway, there is a wonderful path through a pile of impressive slabs of granite. There was construction on the street ahead so we detoured to Warren Street. It was a U. detour as you can imagine. I was looking in the various windows and stopped briefly to admire a painting. What an extravaganza of color and fury! The title struck me as a real thought provoker, "The Killing of Social Security." Behind me there was a young woman I was about to let pass when she said, "Do you like the painting? It's my dad." I was floored. How could it be that I stopped at the precise moment when our lives intersected? What if I had gone a different way? What if I had examined the buildings as I had before and skipped the window? What if I had lingered at the Battery Park rock pile or read more poems? That night, out of curiosity, I searched on Facebook to see if Joe or Noemie were there. The spelling of Noemie's name takes me back to when I lived on Clipper Street in Noe Valley. I found her and sent a message. She replied with a note telling me her art can be seen on cargocollective. My Out & About adventure turned into one of those ripple effect days (remember Slinky on the Chapel Hill bus?) where the unexpected blooms like a magician's bouquet springing from a top hat. I'm reminded of the first line of a poem I wrote in 1962, "The beautiful days of my life have lost their number" So many beautiful days! Such elegant arrangements and collisions provided by the gentle, merry U.
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...may your days be filled with festive blessings...
Photo Credit: K Ripp
Guidebook: Courtesy of the Battery Conservancy
How extraordinary! Was it serendipity that you met the artist at the very moment you both were there or was it choreographed in the heavens. You visit such interesting places Christine. I'll bet before long you will know NYC like the back of your hand.
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed this post and wish I were walking along with you and experiencing some of these outstanding magical events.
...from Dian:
ReplyDelete"I loved these thoughts. Glad you liked stars and moved to Roanoke. Glad it got cold and you needed a hat. Glad that Susan knows a quality souls when she meets one...and...of course.... counting my blessings that you decided to have spaghetti over here... and dance your way into my heart!"