Three poems inspired by photos in Anarchy, Protest & Rebellion by Fred W. McDarrah
HEBREW NEW YEAR
Photo p.283 Pretzel vendor,
Allen Street at Delancey, December 2, 1963
printed on a building
with letters the size of windows
and windows divided
into four squares. The man
selling pretzels waits for customers
in a long coat and hat.
Those youthful salted-pretzels
stack vertically
on his tilted cart,
the size of a casket.
The body of the vendor
has gone the way bodies go,
the way pretzels go—consumed.
Split by the lens,
half of a person crosses the street,
now on the island that divides traffic;
part of him heads toward
BREW PUBLISHING COMPANY.
The “HE” before “BREW,”
swallowed by the elements.
From the photo I can’t tell if
the Williamsburg Bridge
is to the left or right and
which way Ratner’s might be
with the bakery as you enter:
hamentaschen in rows,
black and white cookies not
far behind the piles of rugelach.
Walk further to the service
section where waiters are waiters
with no visible hobbies.
I’m seated at a table with
my mother. She’s speaking
Yiddish to the waiter.
I suddenly understand
every word. She orders
blueberry blintzes
with sour cream,
tells me she used to scrub
the floors and change sheets
in Aunt Jenny’s cathouse
on Bleeker Street.
The Jenny who was raped
by a rabbi in Rumania.
Mom says she worked in that
whorehouse when she was
a curvy 15 year old,
says “things happened,” then
whistles, “When the Saints Go
Marching In.”
SLOW RETURN
Photo p. 67
Tomkins Square Park, 10th Street and
Avenue A, Feb 13, 1964
Covered with snow,
the swerving walkway,
semicircles and bare trees.
Stripped, weather beaten,
a people-less photo,
a eulogy to the park, minus
concerts, murders, gangs,
homeless—and the celebrations.
Allen Ginsberg lived on its border,
the 10th street side.
Kristen Linkleter, a voice teacher,
walked on my back in her ground floor
apartment on the Avenue B side.
We weren’t intimate, the park and I,
until I collapsed on its bench,
coming down
from LSD.
It was then it held me in its bosom,
rocked me between A and B,
softly chanting: You belong.
Sit as long as you like---
until the trees are trees
the leaves, leaves,
buildings, buildings
and people just people--
until everything
settles back
into its name.
GUILT
Photo p. 16 Funeral, Sept. 25,1971, for victim of Attica
State Prison riots where thirty-nine inmates died
in the uprising
Nine men carry the casket
where the body rests
where religion starts
or stops.
Feel the weight,
the strain.
The woman in the rear of the photo
sticks her head out
from behind a wall
and almost smiles
for the camera.
The pallbearers
carry rage…silence.
These are not prisoners.
They knew the man.
They move the casket
into my dining room,
drop it on the table.
There it remains.
Interrupted by the Sea, Paul Lieber’s second collection of poetry was published last year. (What Books Press) His first collection, Chemical Tendencies, (Tebot Bach) was a finalist in the MSR poetry contest. He also received an honorable mention in the Allen Ginsberg Contest. Three times nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Paul produced and hosted “Why Poetry” on Pacifica radio in L.A. and Santa Barbara. Guests included Poet Laureates, National Book Award Winners and many known and lesser-known poets. Paul’s poems have appeared in The Moth, N.Y. Quarterly, Patterson Review, Askew, Poemeleon, Alimentum, and many other journals and anthologies. He has taught creative writing at Loyola Marymount University and facilitates the poetry workshop at Beyond Baroque, the oldest literary institute in Los Angeles. Paul works as an actor. He currently teaches at AMDA. paullieber.com