Webcam the World

Webcam the World

  by Heather McHugh

Get all of it. Set up the shots

at every angle; run them online

24/7. Get beautiful stuff (like

scenery and greenery and style)

and get the ugliness ( like cruelty

and quackery and rue). There's nothing

unastonishing - but get that too. We have

to save it all, now that we can, and while.

Do close-ups with electron microscopes

and vaster pans with planetcams.

It may be getting close

to our last chance -

how many

millipedes or elephants are left?

How many minutes for mind-blinded men?

Use every lens you can- get Dubliners

in fisticuffs, the last Beijinger with

an abacus, the boy in Addis Ababa who feeds

the starving dog. And don't forget the cows

in neck-irons, when barns begin

to burn. The rollickers at clubs

the frolickers at forage - take it all,

the space you need: it's curved. Let

mileage be footage, let years be light. Get

goggles for the hermitage, and shades for whorage.

Don't be boggled by totality: we're here to save the world without exception. It will serve

as its own storage.

(from 'Upgraded to Serious')

 Photo: mine, Bryant Park, NYC Sept 2010

Whoah boy!

Paul Revere

I had not been looking forward to my birthday this year and had spent the previous few weeks rehearsing the new number, trying it on for size, doubling it to see what number it was half of, and generally marveling at how quickly the previous year had passed.

I spent my birthday in Boston with my mother, two brothers, my husband and son. My son was going to be without his PlayStation for 72 hours and I was going to age, so to fortify ourselves we planned to attend Sunday mass at St John the Evangelist Church in Cambridge.

As we stood on the sidewalk after the service, I made some glum comment about my age. My husband piped up: "What's the hurry?" Apparently, I had so conditioned myself to the new number that by the time my birthday hit, I automatically added one more year.  I didn't know whether to be relieved that I hadn't 'aged', or to become concerned that I was able to dupe myself so well. But we all did the appropriate thing - which was to laugh.

My brother, the former Bostonian

Mother, brothers, son - Boston.

After church we took a walk along the Freedom Trail in historic North Boston. We started at the building ( now a pub) where John Hancock and Samuel Adams plotted the revolution. We then moved on to the spot where Crispus Attucks, former slave, became the first casualty of the Boston massacre marking the beginning of the Revolutionary War. We followed the trail all the way through the Italian quarter to the Old North Church where Paul Revere had instructed that a lantern be held up in the church belfry: one if the British were coming by land, and two if by sea (the Charles River).

We spent two nights in a hotel on the Cambridge bank of the Charles and watched the four-man sculls going upriver on the cold mornings in preparation for the Head of the Charles Regatta. On the third evening we made the drive back into New York City. I was one year older, and my son was conversing again. It was (at least) a two lantern moment.

Husband and son

Birthplace of the Revolution

Photos: Boston, October 15-17, 2010

  

Not Much Today

  There isn't much I have to say -

these pictures were a week ago, 

but could as well have been today.

Screeching seagulls hanging low

a cool wind sweeps across the bay,

these pictures were a week ago

but could as well have been today.

The Throgg's Neck Bridge's gentle bow 

has made the fractured city stay -

these pictures were a week ago,

who saw what happened there today?

There is no way for me to know.

There isn't much I have to say,

these pictures were a week ago -

but might as well have been today.

Not Much Today - by Lorraine Robain
Photos, mine - City Island 10/3/10

Something Else Entirely

My grandfather, Claude Nichols

To my great shock and delight I learned this morning that despite my previous claims to the contrary, I do have some sort of 'native' blood coursing through my veins. Who knew? Apparently, my mother...who didn't think it noteworthy till we got together with her cousin over breakfast and they started to dredge up the family history.

The story goes, there were three brothers who came from Scotland (The Nichols) to the West Indies in the early to mid 1800's. One settled in Barbados, one went to the Grenadines and the third went further south to Aruba.One of those men was my great-great-grandfather. From all accounts, my g2g-dad settled in Barbados and one of his sons later came over to the Grenadines and took up with a woman who was, if not full blooded, a hefty part Carib. My grandfather Claude was one of their sons.

The Caribs and the Arawaks (Taino) were two of the main tribes of Amerindian people living in the Caribbean when Columbus 'discovered' this area. A common simplification is that the Arawaks were friendly whereas the Caribs were hostile - even rumored to have been cannibals. But we've learned to be a little leery of historical accounts, based on who has done the telling. What we know for sure is that the regional population of ten million Amerindians was reduced to one million through disease, slavery, revolt, extermination and finally, re-population. I understand quite well how indigenous people feel about being usurped. I even sense the angst of Sarah Palin's 'Real Americans' who fear the influx of immigrants, though the ironic 'full-circle' quality of this occurrence isn't lost on me.

Because of our history, almost all present day Caribbean people are part many things, which makes us something else entirely. But at this point, no living West Indian can argue against that history without arguing against their own personal existence.

Tibetans, after losing their autonomy, now fear the systematic influx of more and more Han Chinese into Tibet. Their country has been rapidly developed in part to put a good face on the invasion but more practically, to put down the infrastructure needed for its increasing Chinese population. I read about it and felt quite a bit of outrage because this clearly is not a mutually acceptable situation, but it never is.

No Iron Balloons

With a Henry Moore sculpture - June 2008, NYBG

It started this past Thursday - a cyclist almost ran me over on the sidewalk. He had no business there, but once he passed me I looked past him up the canyon of Fifth Avenue, wondering what it would be like to ride my own bike up the length of it. That started me thinking (of all things) about my upcoming birthday which is just weeks away from claiming another year of my life. By then, the thought was fully formed: "What have I been doing all my life?


This type of reflection is proof positive that one's youth is fast departing (I am being kind). Where did the time go? What do I have to show for it? Is this as good as it gets? Because life is truly seamless and organic, its quite difficult to tease out the tiny threads of cause from the tangled ball of their effects. So, unless you are standing in a cesspool (i.e, assuming you are reasonably OK with your life) you don't really look for scapegoats, or rogues to rue. As a result, you rarely regret what you've done, (criminals and jerks aside) rather - what you didn't do.

Enter 'the bucket list'. I'm not crazy about the term but I like the idea of at least taking stock of what you think you'd like to do before you 'go'.

Some people think they want to climb Mount Everest, or perhaps a more modest slope (you don't want to risk kicking the bucket before you fill it), go to some exotic country or other, run with the bulls in Pamplona, go on Safari in Kenya, volunteer for some noble cause, write a book, swim with the dolphins, run a marathon. Feats of endurance, feats of indulgence, and some feats of pure foolishness too.

I hadn't given it any thought whatsoever until that evening. If you'd asked me that morning what I would want to accomplish in life, I would have replied that I'd like to see my son reach adulthood, and I would like to have peace of mind along the way. 'Winning the lottery' rears its head now and then - but that's not within my control. Not that anything really is. So, I thought about it, and the first thing I decided was to call it something different: "My Liftoff List". Like a rocket-ship rather than a bucket. Something to blast off in - rather than something to kick. Up rather than down. Next, I decided that the list couldn't be populated with 'iron balloons', but rather things somewhat within my power to initiate and complete. There goes growing beautifully old like Vanessa Redgrave. So, here it is, in no particular order:

1. Become an elementary school Phys Ed teacher. I know this is possible because my son's Phys Ed teacher is at least 65, has a bum knee and walks with a cane. Thus far, I only have the bum knee.

2. Plant a garden of 'under-appreciated' plants (code for 'weeds'). I've got a jump start on this one already.

3. Dress strictly out of a (carry-on size) suitcase for a month. The only extra I will allow myself is a (carry-on size) tub of laundry detergent.

4. 'Give up' a different one of the five senses for each day of a week - and give up speech on the 6th day.
Give up the project on the seventh day because the kick to this is renewed appreciation not masochism.
 
5. Spend a night sleeping out in the backyard. Its a nice compromise between my warm bed and camping. I could move my warm bed into the backyard which would be an even nicer compromise.

6. Have an exhibition of my photographs and publish a book of poetry. ( Nowhere do I say they have to be any good.)    

7. Travel to the hillside where (they filmed) Julie Andrews singing 'The Sound of Music'.

8. Have a birthday party at the New York Botanical Gardens. Peggy Rockefeller's Rose Garden to be specific.

9. Learn to tolerate more asymmetry and uncertainty. Like having a list of only 9 items - and having no idea whether I'll accomplish them.

   Liftoff.

    

Artist and admirer in the Rose Garden

Peggy Rockefeller's Rose Garden - NYBG