A great poem i found about New York City

[nygirl]

I DREAM OF NEW YORK by Chink the good stuff. Nuyorican Poets Cafe, New York City , 2004.


I dream of New York.
When I am sitting on the edge of another fucked up dream of another fucked up time in the cement city of our hell, cracking up on cracked vibrations and-
...cracked out of my mind
I don't see your "juice box fantasies" amidst the center piece which is uneducated madding and war crys measured only by the force of your voice and not your actions...a life that you cant figure out because you are too caught up in shouting about how unfair it is to live it.
I dream of white lines up and down the avenue that lead to 80 more avenues, intertwined and tangled in a maze. I dont see your St.marks, Bowerys or your segregated boroughs, burrowing into another century of segregation.
I dont see your street pedalers selling their life stories for 25 cents on a nickle and two dimes or the jazz you thought you invented and thought you invented for peace when you knew it would spoil.
Let's save ourselves from drowning in faceless crowds that stream up and down the street to pack into a sardine can.
I see the ones who consider themselves Gods by 5% and preach up and down the streets of south Queens marching to the beat made by their own footsteps.
If you were here, you'd know why our faces were so bitter and cold...half frozen actually and even though we reside among millions...alone. Your heart would stop everytime you pass that nursing home--headlines read; 79 year old woman freezes on the roof in a pool of frozen rain or another crooked cop gets off for shooting a 19 year old...a 19 year old Amadou.
Our skylines are more than empire state and chrysler, they are South Bronx PuertoRicans, south Brooklyn Italians, south Queens Blacks, and north Manhattan Dominicans. Our skyline is a rainbow which is not common considering how many years of blood painted streets it took us to get 1 step closer to unification...8 million more steps to go.
I dream of prosperity amongst all but not half, and wonder why half cant even afford prosperity in the 21st century. I dream of belt parkway sun dipped in summer sunsets...still wondering what life would be like under the Pacific sunset if I wasnt trapped here. I whisper poetry into your eardrums and you take that as me unwilling to get a real job when my job is the effort in making you think more than you think you have to. My dream is for the Native Americans that Albany can't keep promises with. I want to back up knowing it would be better if I skip town but I don't want to miss small talk with the hatians on the corner or listen to the teachers who taught me how to feel this way and made me feel better for not feeling sorry I did.
I dream of the Lost Towers, burning their story into the souls of millions of subway riders...the "Rebuild Lower Manhattanites" acheing to find a reason...
and the Arab Americans dying because of none. I can't see your "we will never forget" posters lining the gates of ground zero or the crosses you set up to keep the faith. But I can still feel your glory; the one that came in on boats in the early 20th century dying to pave your streets gold and build your never ending cathedrals. They are the ones that consume you and keep you safe. The same ones that keep you dreaming--in this--the city that never sleeps.
Suits and ties skateboard around tribeca looking for their lost souls in lower manhattan when they lost them in midtown. I dream of orchard beach stinking and listen to the F train jingle the same sound for 4 years. I don't see the bally's fitness center you go to but the work out of 42nd and tearing through arms and limbs just to feel more human if I somehow stopped feeling anything under your blinding lights. I can't feel myself breath because I have lost myself in being just another black dot. I dream of the Hudson river sending currents of new water to wash away the thousands of corpses that lay beneath. I dream of another boy killed for reaching into his pocket to identify himself for the police because he knows he has 2 strikes against him already for standing infront of them.
I dream of protests and movements on the steps of city hall, the yuppies in the village who pour another cup of coffee and watch or the snobs from the upper East Side who couldn't give a crap. I dream of Hells Kitchen dying to become another cluster in the skyline and stripping itself of all true characteristics that make it an actual district in this city...slipping away into the myst. I dream of New York underground and above me and swallowing me up in my slumber as it does while i am awake.
I dream of Religious Sex and Nuyorican strumming me into a somber melody.
I dream of Harlem colliding with Nassau and Staten Island tumbling into Yonkers and Soho slipping into Bushwick...
I dream of shoes hanging from powerlines and flickering lights in the night. I dream of Madison Avenue finally reaching Queensbridge and 5th Avenue as a golden gate to Flatbush. I dream of the boardwalks of Coney Island and Far Rockaway beach. I dream of real conversations in your coffee shops and a white-black-brown paradise you can't see because to you--diversity has boundaries.
Because you don't see the Sihks enjoying ravioli on Arthur Avenue or see the Hasidics shopping on Jamaica avenue. I hear the voices of hundreds of different languages that only come together in my ear from seperate directions because one doesn't belong somewhere the other doesn't and I don't belong here and you..you don't belong there. I see uniforms and opinions bleak...you see seperation is permanent and intergration is temporary. It lasts on friday nights and walks on your lunch break.
You can't carry a chihuahua in your purse in Bed-Stuy or wear a pink jump suit with Timz in Gramercy Park 'cause either way you won't be taken seriously.
I dream of Greek fest and Italian night...of the PuertoRican day parade and the St. Patrick's day parade...I dream of seeing the Yankees win the World Series because that's when you really see all faces on the street celebrating together...finally...
I march from the Outter Bridge to Mount Vernon, The Hudson Yards to Montauk...because if I stop marching eventually I would have to sit down somewhere and I want to breath everywhere. Too bad i couldn't be the dominatrix in Chelsea or the stock broker on Wall street or the cabbie in astoria or the Suffolk County suburbanites dying to be cultured. I wish I could see things more clearly , but I only have one pair of eyes. I taste the Canal Street air that pumps it's green and yellow fumes into my lungs and wonder what the rats really chew on in the Lower East Side.
I dont see your post modern masterpieces and parkway advertisements because I'll die before I can live in one or buy your advice. I dream for Tim Stansbury whose last sight was the bullet that came from the gun of the very men sent to protect him. Who cares though? Revolution hasn't started with Abner Louima and it doesnt look like it will now when there is no time for revolution or we only dream of the day 3rd world meant more than threats or parasites. Revolution is slacking behind Billy Blanko who don't give a fuck about little Jose in Cuba or his AK-47. He grips his tec-9 with his life because to him revolution is a fairy tale and he would rather waste bullets on exchanged words, than exchange words over bullets.
I dream of inhaling the beauty of life in this city but it is blocked off by seperation on eitherside and to get from one side to another means to conform and eventually relinquish even the smallest measurment of my character.
I dream of New York.
But it is because of you I no longer dream in color. I dream because if i don't...my mind will explode from the intensity you deliver and my dreams will scatter your streets, avenues, squares, parks, plaza's, and halls and be stepped on by the masses.
And then hope
would reside
along the ridges of your shoes.

[swivel]

very, very cool... and oh so very NY...

thanks for sharing this nygirl..

[nygirl]

Yea she said , she wrote that during a two day tour of the city. And that when she wrote about something, she was actually there. Drug induced poem, no sleep just walking around the entire city Man-Qns-Bklyn-BX-SI.. with a sketch pad. I admire her word so much.
Glad someone posted and gave me feedback. People generally don't to my posts, and they fade away quickly.

[nygirl]

delete.

[swivel]

Originally Posted by nygirl

Yea she said , she wrote that during a two day tour of the city. And that when she wrote about something, she was actually there. Drug induced poem, no sleep just walking around the entire city Man-Qns-Bklyn-BX-SI.. with a sketch pad. I admire her word so much.
Glad someone posted and gave me feedback. People generally don't to my posts, and they fade away quickly.

Interesting.. and its my pleasure.. I wish we saw more posts like this.. as people are the true essence of a city.. we, or I anyway, rarely have the chance to encounter such ppl... its nice.. makes the city all the more real in my mind

cheers..

[New Jack City]

Took the time out to read this one, it's amazing how much she mentions, specifics and details, non-touristy stuff but yet she's from Cali and wrote this in 2 days. I couldn't have wrote this and lived here my entire life. Thanks for sharing, really gets you thinking and brings up some imagery, like the protests at City Hall, signs at the WTC site. The "black dot" mention in Times Square is a nice line too.

[nygirl]

I would like to post more of her work. She is NewYorker, and a good friend of mine, i'm glad you appreciate it.