snow day dreams

Tomorrow there may be snow. The possibility of a minor pause in the universe (or at least New York) where everyone softens, eases on responsibility, understands the fellow man, ("Well, the weather..."). Before the Brooklyn Bridge connected the borough's commuters to their downtown offices, the suits would travel by ferry. On foggy days, people were expected to be late. It was alright. It was foggy. We are all subject to weather. But if man can take a bunch of wires and have them carry the weight of New York for 70 years, become a international symbol of American ingenuity, and muse an infinite amount of poetry and art then man can be on time.

But on a snow day, New York is subject to the weather. Even if it is just 6 inches. Because if this city can proginate the motion picture industry, and host the thousands upon thousands of Broadway shows, Off, off, off broadway theater, avant garde performance, improve comedy, high school productions of Godspell...then this city can be dramatic over a couple of inches of snow.

So tomorrow, in the quiet of your classroom, or your job...When everyone is commenting on the empty chairs of those who didn't make it 'cause "well, the weather..." And when people around you are drawn to the window creating pensive silhouettes, and everyone is talking in a lower voice. Grab a hot chocolate and indulge in something beautiful.

Like Neruda:

Verbo

Voy a arrugar esta palabra,
voy a torcerla ,
sí,
es demasiado lisa,
es como si un gran perro o un gran río
le hubiera repasado lengua o agua
durante muchos años.

Quiero que en la palabra
se vea la aspereza,
la sal ferruginosa
la fuerza desdentada
de la tierra,
la sangre
de los que hablaron y de los que no hablaron.

Quiero ver la sed
adentro de las sílabas:
quiero tocar el fuego
en el sonido:
quiero sentir la oscuridad
del grito. Quiero
palabras ásperas
como piedras vírgenes.


Verb

I’m going to wrinkle this word,
I’m going to twist it,
yes,
it is much too flat
it is as if a great dog or great river
had passed its tongue or water over it
during many years.

I want that in the word
the roughness is seen
the iron salt
The de-fanged strength
of the land,
the blood
of those who have spoken and those who have not spoken.

I want to see the thirst
Inside the syllables
I want to touch the fire
in the sound:
I want to feel the darkness
of the cry. I want
words as rough
as virgin rocks.

Translated by T.M. Lauth


Or this friend of MJ's Koury Angelo, a photographer I recently I have now be-fanned:






Friend his on Facebook to see more pictures of New Orleans and LA. The whole album is phenomenal.

I sometimes get lost for hours here. There is something calming about watching old silent films. Combined with a snow day may induce coma. Awesome. A snowma.

Happy Snow Day. Add another marshmellow. Cheers from the 'Blues.