Sudden Impact

Last Friday night, I took a walk to Gillham Park and wandered around the storied old wading pool.

Built in 1977, it replaced an earlier wading pool from 1913. Because this was Kansas City in the '70's, the new pool was heavily informed by Modernist architecture: lots of low, flat, rectilinear concrete planes lead gradually into the shallow pool, which was only three feet at its deepest. This practical design meant that, though there wasn't much shade, parents and friends could nestle into the elevated concrete corners with a clear view of swimmers. It also allowed for closer proximity among strangers, as the segmented planes dictated a certain degree of personal space while still allowing visitors to sit close to one another and, perhaps, strike up a conversation. By many accounts, people felt safe and relaxed here, like they were part of a community.

The pool, which lacked a pumping and filtration system, was eventually shut down last summer after its thirty-ninth year. This represented, for many folks, a significant loss. Gillham Park had one of the few free pools in the city, which meant that it was accessible across socioeconomic boundaries. It was seen as a friendly and welcoming neighborhood space.

Neighborhood groups are currently working to raise money for a nearby spray park. This potential project would be an adequate replacement for the beloved pool, which now sits empty. Its plain white interior has become a free canvas for local artists and bored kids. Though I doubt the pool will remain the gathering space it once was, I'll watch these walls nonetheless.

"Bouncy bouncy—it's such a good time"

Southbound

Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?

I've been reading a lot recently: Paradise Lost is way jucier than I ever gave it credit for and Life on Mars by Tracy Smith is maybe the best poetry collection I've picked up in a long time.

While I certainly encourage everyone to find a copy and read it right now, I realize that life is happening and that people are busy. Therefore, I share the single poem "Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?" from Life on Mars. The title is from "Sound and Vision" by David Bowie, and this book incorporates tidbits from sources as vast as 2001: A Space Odessey and interviews about the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse.

"Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?"

          1.
After dark, stars glisten like ice, and the distance they span
Hides something elemental. Not God, exactly. More like
Some thin-hipped glittering Bowie-being—a Starman
Or cosmic ace hovering, swaying, aching to make us see.
And what would we do, you and I, if we could know for sure 

That someone was there squinting through the dust,
Saying nothing is lost, that everything lives on waiting only
To be wanted back badly enough? Would you go then,
Even for a few nights, into that other life where you
And that first she loved, blind to the future once, and happy? 

Would I put on my coat and return to the kitchen where my
Mother and father sit waiting, dinner keeping warm on the stove?
Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep
Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,
Just like the woman you lost, who will always be dark-haired 

And flush-faced, running toward an electronic screen
That clocks the minutes, the miles left to go. Just like the life
In which I’m forever a child looking out my window at the night sky
Thinking one day I’ll touch the world with bare hands
Even if it burns.

          2.
He leaves no tracks. Slips past, quick as a cat. That’s Bowie
For you: the Pope of Pop, coy as Christ. Like a play
Within a play, he’s trademarked twice. The hours 

Plink past like water from a window A/C. We sweat it out,
Teach ourselves to wait. Silently, lazily, collapse happens.
But not for Bowie. He cocks his head, grins that wicked grin. 

Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives
Before take-off, before we find ourselves
Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold? 

The future isn’t what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts
For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky
Like migratory souls.

          3.
Bowie is among us. Right here
In New York City. In a baseball cap
And expensive jeans. Ducking into
A deli. Flashing all those teeth
At the doorman on his way back up.
Or he’s hailing a taxi on Lafayette
As the sky clouds over at dusk.
He’s in no rush. Doesn’t feel
The way you’d think he feels.
Doesn’t strut or gloat. Tells jokes. 

I’ve lived here all these years
And never seen him. Like not knowing
A comet from a shooting star.
But I’ll bet he burns bright,
Dragging a tail of white-hot matter
The way some of us track tissue
Back from the toilet stall. He’s got
The whole world under his foot,
And we are small alongside,
Though there are occasions 

When a man his size can meet
Your eyes for just a blip of time
And send a thought like SHINE
SHINE SHINE SHINE SHINE
Straight to your mind. Bowie,
I want to believe you. Want to feel
Your will like the wind before rain.
The kind everything simply obeys,
Swept up in that hypnotic dance
As if something with the power to do so
Had looked its way and said:
                                                     Go ahead.

- from Life on Mars (2011) by Tracy K. Smith

...And for good measure:

- "Sound and Vision" by David Bowie, from Low (1977)

Welcome to the Working Week

- "Welcome to the Working Week" by Elvis Costello, from My Aim Is True (1977)

I share this because I'm beginning to learn that this whole nine-to-five business is kind of bullhockey. I love my job, the people in my office are generous and communicative, and I feel like I am doing something meaningful and fulfilling. The difficulty, which I've realized most people live with on a day-to-day basis, is coming home at 5:00 p.m. and being too tired to do anything except sit around and maybe read. Work is tiring, even sedentary office work (not to mention hard manual labor). Maybe eventually, I'll find a really cool job where I can work different hours and not sit in an office all day.

This week, I will try to channel that jaded fatigue into productivity, and will do my darndest to post more here.

Additionally, I saw this really awesome aerial sculpture on the Rose Kennedy Greenway last night. It's called "As If It Were Already Here" and was designed by an American artist named Janet Echelman. Though I took quite a few photos yesterday (I'm trying to take at least one every day), the only photos I have of the sculpture are from my cell phone, and here they are.

As always, thank you for reading this!