Monday, June 1, 2020

Amanda Deutch : bodega night pigeon riot, by Amanda Deutch


Pre-script:
I wrote this before the pandemic had the majority of the world sheltering in place. I think the need for small moments of wonder has only increased during this time of crisis.


          I grew up watching Wild Style on TV, wearing mismatched converse high-tops, and noticing all the random manifestations of street art in New York City.  Somewhere in an empty lot there was this giant assemblage of all kinds of stuffed animals, toys, and tires. It was enormous—  high as the tree tops. It was in the East Village, maybe on First Avenue or Avenue A.  I only caught glimpses of it at night when it was dark and I was out smoking with friends. So I am not sure whether it was in an empty lot or a community garden. (I could look it up, but I dont really want to. I like having it remain in my memory as it is.) There were so many of these wacky manifestations of wonder throughout the five boroughs. In the 1980s, someone painted purple footprints all over Manhattan. The footprints went on for blocks. I wanted to spend a day following the footprints to see where they would go, if they lead to a destination or would just lead you on a labyrinthian day of wandering. (I was too young at the time to go follow them on my own.)

           I wrote bodega night pigeon riot while looking out the window on a long subway trip to work. It is a roughly 1.5 hour commute from Brooklyn to well, Brooklyn actually. I take two trains that go underground, two above ground (or elevated) trains and travel over the Manhattan and the Williamsburg Bridges. I actually enjoy this Wednesday commute because there is so much to see out the window and good people watching on these particular trains. It was a cloudy afternoon and I began to write. I got into a sort of liminal state and began to write what was happening outside the rectangular  subway windows. I saw graffiti on rooftops and high on the side of buildings, signs for businesses that were more basic than marketed (Burger, Best Liquor). And I devised some constraints for myself. I think it was five lines and three words per line. I wrote like that for 12-15 subway stops. At times, I found myself interrupt and enter into the poem, a memory conjured by a street name or the shape of a building. I allowed these associations and memories into the poem, but only minimally. I wanted the words to reflect the city outside, more than my own mind. I wrote and looked up and I had arrived at work. The poem captured the temporal journey.

          I try to keep my eyes open. For years, I didnt have a smart phone. I held out until I couldn’t any longer. Friends would ask me often, “Well why not? Why dont you just get one?” It was hard to explain in the quick pace of conversation what the real answer was: “I want to keep my eyes open to wonder.”  Instead, I would say, “Well. . .you know I want to be present” or “I want to protect my time and I don't want everyone expecting me to reply to texts or e-mails instantly. Plus if I drop it, it bounces.” That is true. But really it was for the wonder. I finally caved and got a smart phone 7 months ago after my last flip phone died. The flip phone fell onto a taqueria floor and broke in half. Earlier models had been super durable. This one stunk. It was beyond repair. Having a smart phone definitely impacts my sense of wonder. I catch myself reading articles on my phone while I’m walking down the street. If I am not careful I may pass some street art or moment of awe.


          The neighborhoods that the elevated trains travel through are changing. This is not a new story. While not too long ago, they were predominantly working class neighborhoods of color, they are now full of brand new "lofts" with 15-foot lease advertisements showing fashionable and young multicultural people smiling and playing pool. (I guess the loft buildings have pool tables? )


          From the train on my way to work, I am an observer, a witness to the change. The neighborhoods are gentrifying. People are being pushed out, displaced, and losing their homes. Flower shops and Santeria spots become trendy coffee shops and bars with millennial pink neon. Neighborhoods often lose their character this way and slowly cities globally have become more homogenized. Although, I am a native New Yorker, this is not my neighborhood. I don't live here. But as a New Yorker, I have always valued how many distinct and varied neighborhoods can thrive in New York City creating a riot for the senses. I sometimes see the whole of New York City as my home.

          Closer to Manhattan, in Williamsburg and Bushwick,  fashionable people get on and off the trains peacocking in all of their brightly colored clothes. As I get closer to work, the older people of color, and mothers with their children get on and off the train in their work clothes. Gradually the signs outside the window begin to change from English to Spanish. Once I pass Myrtle Avenue, more of the business signs are in Spanish: Pollo Rico and El Valle. By the time I finally arrive at my stop, Crescent Street, everybody is speaking Spanish.

          I photograph on the elevated trains I ride to work using a plastic panoramic point and shoot I bought at the Goodwill 15 years ago. This is my favorite camera. I think it cost $1.99. I used a photo lab in Brooklyn to develop and print the photographs. I didnt have a smart phone yet when I wrote this poem (yes, even in 2019). It was me looking out the window in the city on my way to work finding the wonder in the everyday.





Amanda Deutch is a poet and interdisciplinary artist. Her poems have been published in the New York Times, The Rumpus, Cimarron Review, and Cosmonauts Avenue, among others. The author of six chapbooks, her most recent chapbooks are bodega night pigeon riot (above/ground press, 2020) and Surf Avenue and 29th Street, Coney Island (Least Weasel Press, 2018). She has been a writer-in-residence at The Betsy Hotel (Miami) and Footpaths to Creativity (Azores). She is the Founder and Executive Director of Parachute Literary Arts. Deutch’s poems can be found at www.amandadeutch.com. More about Parachute Literary Arts can be found here: www.ParachuteArts.org

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