Impromptu (Thursday Doors)
Why is it I keep
traveling back to the past?
What is it I’m looking for?
Rain glooming the day–
buzzer rings—clouds lift, I smile–
we had all the time in the world.
Fifty years ago, after the dorm at FIT, this was my second apartment in the city. Located in the West Village, it was a fifth floor walk up with a laundromat on the first floor. When someone buzzed my apartment, I would toss the keys down to them, as there was no way to buzz them in. We had no computers, no cell phones, not even answering machines for our house phones. If they happened to be in your neighborhood, friends would just buzz your apartment to see if you were home. And I was (mostly) always happy to see them.
The West Village is quite upscale now, but evidently the building is still a walk up. There’s a first floor apartment available to rent for $5800/month, looking much the same but with a better kitchen. My roommates and I paid $300.
I was nearby for a memorial service last winter, and couldn’t resist visiting the corner on my way home. I only lived there for a year, but it was an eventful one.
My poem is a mondo for Colleen at Tanka Tuesday using the kigo word traveling.
And don’t forget to check out the rest of the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
Other Worlds (Thursday Doors)
much is concealed
in the hidden folds of yesterday–
images taken and then forgotten
like a casual conversation–
only to suddenly reappear
as a whisper, a persistent hum
that was there all along–
lingering between consciousness
and the full moon shining
through distant nightclouds
These tiny otherworldly dioramas were part of an exhibit at the New York Botanical Garden that I visited last fall with my family. I ran across my photos of them recently and was newly enchanted.
The exhibit was inside Ross Hall, which is a large imposing structure. Strangely, I could find no information about it–who designed it, when–either on the garden’s website, or anywhere online. Perhaps there is information inside the building–I’ll look next time I’m there.
Here’s the door from the inside. I like the reflections on the floor.
My poem is a quadrille for dVerse, where De provided the word much. The moon was magic, as always, outside my window this week.
My daughters and I went to the 9/11 ceremony at the Firemen’s Memorial in Riverside Park this morning. Another crisp September morning. Hard to believe it’s been almost 25 years.
And look for more doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
Nnenna Okore
Wonderful art from the Kick-About inspired by new-to-me artist Nnenna Okore
Murmuration (Draw a Bird Day)
the way excess
thought leads
to starlings
a geometry
taking wing
–Peter Gizzi, “Suddenly”
I’ve done posts about both starlings and their murmurations before, but I never really did much research about either one.
Starlings are an introduced species to the United States. One story has it that they were released in Central Park in the late 1800s in an attempt to populate it with all the birds mentioned by Shakespeare, but that has never been definitively proven. Another theory is that they were brought here in an effort to reduce insect pests, which they are very effective at doing.
However they arrived, being adaptable birds, they now number in the millions across the North American continent. Starlings are considered an invasive species and are reputed to compete with and displace many native birds, although the Cornell Bird website said that a study done in 2003 shows little effect on other bird populations. Despite the beauty of their murmurations, they can be pests, both because of the sheer size of their flocks, ant the fact that grain crops are a favorite meal.
Social and gregarious, starlings often forage with other birds, including, as I know from my own observations, sparrows, pigeons, robins, grackles, and crows. They are great mimics, as I also know from experience. One of my apartments had a kitchen window right above the roof next door, and every morning they would serenade me with their repertoire of songs. Evidently they can also recognize other individuals by their calls.
A few other things I learned:
–The males build and decorate nests with ornaments including flowers and trash to attract females. They also add herbs to repel insects. Once mated, pairs are monogamous, devoted parents, with both incubating the blue eggs. They nest in cavities–tree hollows or man-made structures.
–They grow new feathers every fall with white tips that make them appear spotted. Over the winter the tips wear away and in spring their plumages appears darker and more iridescent and the reflected colors intensify. Their beaks also become brighter yellow.
–Starlings migrate. I did not realized that as, like robins, many hang around the city all year.
The murmurations are truly wondrous things of beauty. As Wikipedia notes “the flock moves as each individual synchronizes with its nearest group”–thousands of wings creating patterns that appear both random and choreographed.
I’ve written several starling poems of my own–here’s one.
wings scatter in light,
a mystery, their mission
illegible to
human eyes–tantalizing
visions of layered
complexity, a mirror
reflecting the wind–
following a rising path
toward the Seven Sisters
Windhorse/Rubin Museum (Thursday Doors)
Come, the yellow one said. Follow my secrets. Breathe into always.
Come, the green one said. The air is a garden of forever between deep and wild. Follow my secrets through the whispers of sea shadows wearing skins of light. Breathe into always inside the mother moonship rising along the crescent.
Come, the red one said. Not by lines but by circles. Take your fears and hide them.
Come, blue one said, in the thousand tongues of the night sky, in the dazzled river songs of darkness. Not by lines but by circles. They danced though currents of stars.
The white one held out a wing and a prayer. Take your fears and hide them. Shapeshift into your dreams, beyond the tides of why.
Come, they said.
The Rubin Museum, which closed in 2024, was one of my favorite places in the city. Besides the wonderful exhibits of Asian art, it offered classes (I made an amulet in one), and musical performances in a small intimate auditorium (among the ones I attended were Rosanne Cash, Tom Rush, Tim O’Brien and Alejandro Escovedo)
My last visit there featured this sculptural installation by Asha Kama Waydi, called Windhorse, after Lungta, a mythical Tibetan creature that “combines the speed of the wind and the strength of the horse to carry prayers from the earth to the heavenly realms”.
Constructed of faded prayer flags, the horses that emerge from the falling flags embody the traditional prayer flag colors: yellow, for wisdom and earth; red, for compassion and fire; green, for equanimity and water; white, for purity and air; and blue, for endurance and space.
The Rubin was constructed in a spiral with the staircase to each floor winding around a central atrium, and the windhorse filled the space from top to bottom. I was reminded of it by a recent visit to the Guggenheim, which is laid out in a similar way.
I was very unhappy when I learned the Museum was closing to become a “traveling and virtual museum” and research center. All museums suffered during Covid, but evidently the Rubin’s endowment was in pretty good shape. In any case, no explanation to satisfy me was given. The building could fetch tens of millions of dollars from a real estate developer, which might have had some influence. But why couldn’t they have cut a deal to keep a physical museum with apartments built above it?
I was glad to have had the chance to experience this wonderful work of art before the museum closed. Art is best experienced in person, not virtually.
The Lungta is associated with positive energy, life force, and good luck. You can read more about it here.
The doors and facade photos are from the Rubin website. You can read about its history and current projects, and also view photos from the art collection, here.
My poem is for Sadje’s imagery prompt at W3.
And don’t forget to check out all the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
September 2025
September is complicated with ends and beginnings. It’s not always clear which is which. The year has accumulated, and there is so much left undone. I always mean to simplify, but instead of subtracting, everything seems to multiply. Again, again.
Crow is back, spending his mornings standing his chosen ground as high as he can perch on the water tower two buildings over. He complains and proclaims his right to call the neighborhood to attention with the first hint of dawn. Wake up! Wise up!
Too soon the trees will lose their green and their foliage and the branches will make their beautiful winter patterns against the sky.
I puzzle out a grid
while my mind wanders the crossroads
looking for lost time
This is another grid I created by cutting up some of my old textile print designs. The pieces were irregular, which made it like putting together a puzzle. It’s not at all a perfect fit, which is pretty much how life unwinds, at least for me
Mickey Mantle School (Thursday Doors)
Who will open me,
look inside for potential
seeds expanding into dreams?
Autumn in the air–
fresh notebooks pencils backpacks
greeting new teachers, old friends
I can’t remember when this school was not under scaffolding. Imagine my surprise the other day when I walked by and I could actually see the beautiful building. Constructed in the 1890s to replace a vermin-infested wooden structure, the original PS 9 (which is now located on Columbus Avenue) was a modern structure, with electricity and plenty of large windows for light and ventilation. Designed by CBJ Snyder, the Superintendent of School Buildings, to blend in with the local architecture, it was landmarked in 2009.
This latest renovation still has temporary doors on the side exits, but seems to have finished most work just in time for the new school year. I’m sure the students will be happy to see the scaffolding is gone. Now known as PS 811M, the school serves 400 disabled students from pre-K to high school, supporting both academic and social/emotional growth. The students even run their own in-school diner where they acquire multidisciplinary skills to aid them in integrating into life after school.
Before becoming The Mickey Mantle School in 2002, the school was the John Jasper School, named for an educator who was principal of the school for 30 years. After PS 9 moved in 1965 it became PS140, The Peter Cooper School, and then The Livingston School in the 1950s. I could not find out exactly why it is now named for Mickey Mantle, although AI suggested that the naming it after the Yankees icon “inspired students to pursue their dreams with hard work and dedication”.
Riverside Park is lush and beautiful right now. The garden is in full flower too.
And there were some interesting cloud formations over New Jersey.
My poem is a mondo for Tanka Tuesday where Robbie has asked us to use personification.
And you will find the Daytonian article about the school building history here, along with comments from former students and one teacher.
And don’t forget to check out all the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
New York Public Library (Thursday Doors)
I don’t need to book–
appointments are not required
to enter these rooms,
the magic of books, objects,
mystery, wonder—all free
I’ve done a couple posts with doors from the main branch of the New York Public Library, but it’s a huge building, so there are always more doors to show. Recently I went to see a couple exhibits that were closing in August. Both were near the main entrance on Fifth Avenue. I had entered by the side door, so I photographed the entrance doors from the inside.
I spent a long time looking at “Duos: The Art of Working in Pairs”, which consisted of art done collaboratively. Some of the names I recognized. I know Nancy Spero’s art well, and it did not surprise me she had worked with her husband Leon Golub. This is a print from the series “Conspiracy: Artist as Witness”. Golub is on the left, Spero on the right.
I really liked this mix and match exquisite corpse book, “99 Monsters: Birds from Argentina” by Martin Lowenstein and Diego Vaisberg who have a design firm in Argentina. I also like the way my hands holding the phone were shadowed by the overhead lights.
Bernd and Hilla Becher are married German photographers who work together. These photos are from their book “Industrial Structures”. The library has several of their photography books available to take out–they are definitely on my list.
Thukra & Taga are Indian printmakers; this piece is from their series of lithographs that depict imaginary passports.
And here’s the door to the exhibit.
My poem is for Tanka Tuesday, where Yvette asked us to write tankas that use words with two meanings. I chose the word book.
I photographed the carousel in Bryant Park, in back of the library, on my way home.
And don’t forget to look for more doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
Tom’s Diner (Thursday Doors)
I was listening to “The Best of Suzanne Vega” and when Tom’s Diner came on, it occurred to me that I should do a doors post with the song. I lived in this neighborhood, near Columbia University, for many years (in four different apartments) and both my daughters live near there now, so I’m often passing by Tom’s, which is of course now more famous for its relationship to “Seinfeld”.
Here’s the view from across Broadway.
Vega went to Barnard, but she also grew up in the neighborhood, and a recent article I read somewhere talked about how she is still meeting her mother every week at the Buddhist Temple on Riverside Drive near 106th Street. The bells of the cathedral she mentions in the song are those of the Cathedral of St John the Divine, which is a block away from Tom’s on Amsterdam Avenue.
Here’s a view of it across 112th Street. I have many many photos of the Cathedral, both inside and out–eventually I will sort through them and do a few posts, but below is how it looks from Amsterdam Avenue.
The building that houses Tom’s is Columbia Housing, and its entrance on 112th Street is pretty ordinary. I’m sure it once had a more elaborate door.
My poem is a taiga for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, which is a tanka on a black and white photo.
counters and coffee,
Broadway outside the windows–
I think of diners,
sounds and sights I used to know
intimately, like an old song
Suzanne Vega originally recorded Tom’s Diner as an acapella song, but the British group DNA made it a hit with their remix. I’ve included both versions for your listening and viewing pleasure.
And don’t forget to take a look at all the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
Self Portrait #23 and #24 (after Jawlensky)
My identity is sometimes a no opposing yes and sometimes a yes opposing no. I can’t discern from its past positions which will show up—the untamed glare or the subdued darkness. Even the meanings of the meanings sing differently when they are lingering in the wide spaces between a brief certainty and an indefinite ambiguity. Night provides no refuge from contradiction—dreams only confuse the boundaries further, blurring both my body and my mind.
color changes form
as light questions what is real–
face or mask? or both?
The Kick-About this week provided a painting by Alexej von Jawlensky, “The Girl with the Green Face”, as inspiration. You may recall that I used this artist for one of my self-portraits for KA #124 as part of my long-abandoned 100 Self Portraits series. Hoping to continue with it, I selected Jawlensky’s “Mystical Head”, above, to make another one. And of course, the Kick-About provided an opportunity to do a third portrait for the series. Now I need to move on to a new artist.
All of these self-portraits bear a certain resemblance to me which makes me wonder: what do I really look like?
For some reason WP would not let me reblog this Kick-About, but to see everyone’s wonderful responses, I’ve provided a link to the post, here.
method two madness 
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