Market St. poetry reading
Dec. 4th, 2007 08:36 amNearly 30 years after Reagan's war on poor people* and defunding of mental health facilities began it's hard to write about homeless people without being full of cliché, a cynical bastard, or sounding like a prep school photography student looking for gritty urban realism. So bear with me.
I was walking down the street and heard what I thought was an argument. Then I realized it was only one angry, raised voice. If I had to describe the accent, I'd say hungover, bitchy queen after a couple of decades of cigarettes. Piercing and mocking. Tired and witty. But definitely loud.
I didn't hear the intro so at first I thought crazy street preacher when I heard:
"SOME say the world will end in fire!
Some say in ice!"
Somewhere in my memory I knew I had heard that before. I realized it was a poem when I heard
"From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with THOSE WHO FAVOR FIRE !"
I didn't know that I knew it, maybe it's because he was my Mom's favorite poet, but immediately I thought, "That's Robert Frost."
"That's Robert Frost people!" he said to the folks within hearing distance who were trying to ignore him. "And I'M SORRY, I can't remember the rest,** I'm really sorry. But it's really GOOD. Go look it up! It's a good fucking poem and you don't even care. ROBERT FUCKING FROST. Read a book, IT'S IMPORTANT"
I applauded but I was the only one and either I was too far away or he was too addled to notice and he started walking in the other direction. It was right across the street from the last homeless performance artist I wrote about. I'm sure that somehow there is an artist lifeforce there, emanating from beneath the concrete. Or maybe a performance artist ghost muse of encouragement. The recycling center is obviously just a coincidence.
*A continuation and reaffirmation of the war on poor people that has been passed down from generation to generation but was slightly disrupted during the '60s and '70s.
** I looked it up. Here's the rest:
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
I was walking down the street and heard what I thought was an argument. Then I realized it was only one angry, raised voice. If I had to describe the accent, I'd say hungover, bitchy queen after a couple of decades of cigarettes. Piercing and mocking. Tired and witty. But definitely loud.
I didn't hear the intro so at first I thought crazy street preacher when I heard:
"SOME say the world will end in fire!
Some say in ice!"
Somewhere in my memory I knew I had heard that before. I realized it was a poem when I heard
"From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with THOSE WHO FAVOR FIRE !"
I didn't know that I knew it, maybe it's because he was my Mom's favorite poet, but immediately I thought, "That's Robert Frost."
"That's Robert Frost people!" he said to the folks within hearing distance who were trying to ignore him. "And I'M SORRY, I can't remember the rest,** I'm really sorry. But it's really GOOD. Go look it up! It's a good fucking poem and you don't even care. ROBERT FUCKING FROST. Read a book, IT'S IMPORTANT"
I applauded but I was the only one and either I was too far away or he was too addled to notice and he started walking in the other direction. It was right across the street from the last homeless performance artist I wrote about. I'm sure that somehow there is an artist lifeforce there, emanating from beneath the concrete. Or maybe a performance artist ghost muse of encouragement. The recycling center is obviously just a coincidence.
*A continuation and reaffirmation of the war on poor people that has been passed down from generation to generation but was slightly disrupted during the '60s and '70s.
** I looked it up. Here's the rest:
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.