Headline Haiku: Metropolis

metropolis s

Inspired by Phil Gomm’s “Metropolis” prompt, I’ve revived Headline Haiku for a New York pandemic collage.  I originally did a series of these current event newspaper artworks on methodtwomadness, the blog I do with Nina (who is on an extended break), but I haven’t done one in a long time.

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It also fits my current supply situation–most everything I own is in storage, and I do not have many collage materials in my temporary apartment.  But I do get the NY Times delivered, and I cut them up for what I’m working on as needed.

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I took two of the obituary pages from last Sunday’s paper and collaged it with images and headline haiku collected from the last month’s papers.

body bags s(read the story accompanying this headline here)

My city is hurting.  It’s uncertain when anything will return and what form it will take.

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But the lifeblood of the city is its people, and something will always grow and thrive among them.

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I spent my childhood in Ohio and Maryland but I never put roots down in either place.  NYC is my hometown.  And aside from one apartment, I’ve always lived and worked either on, or within walking distance, of Broadway.

For the last 10 years, I’ve been able to walk to Yankee Stadium from my residences…and many’s the time I’ve started home to the accompaniment of Frank Sinatra after a game.

New York has been a city of immigrants for its entire existence.  And it will continue to draw strength from its diversity as it comes back to life.

New York, New York…a metropolis in which to imagine a new world.

 

 

 

The Stranger

the stranger s

…Stephen Michael West died in the electric chair on Thursday night. Asked if he had any final words, Mr. West said he did.  “In the beginning God created man,” he began before breaking down into sobs.  Then:  “And Jesus wept.  That’s all.”
–Margaret Renkl, from “The Hypocrisy of Execution Day”, NY Times, August 20, 2019

Everybody’s talking at me. It’s the same old song.  Do Wah Diddy.  Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.  Knockin on heaven’s door.  Iko iko.  Thy Kingdom Come.

Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care? Who knows where the time goes?  Every day is a winding road.  Where the streets have no name.

Don’t you know I’m only human? I was hungry, just barely alive.

Here comes Mr. Tamborine Man, playing his song for me. I hear a symphony. “You will love again the stranger who was yourself.”  “Jesus loves you more than you will know.”

Woe woe woe.

He’s just a soul whose intentions are good: “All you need is love.”

Wouldn’t it be nice.

I gotta get out of this place.

Baby you can follow me down. The burning ring of fire.

Hello Darkness, my old friend.

Fly me to the moon.

the stranger close up s

Kim at dVerse gave us a phrase from Derek Walcott, “You will love again the stranger who was yourself,” to use in our Prosery this week.  I had started something completely different using phrases from mostly 60s songs when I read Margaret Renkl’s op-ed piece in the NY Times this morning.

The art is a Rorschach painting with embroidery (in progress).

I wrote this really quickly this morning, so I’ll probably keep coming back to edit it…