BGuthrie Photos: MD -- Takoma Park -- Public Art: Spring for Poetry

MD -- Takoma Park -- Public Art: Spring for Poetry:

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[1] TAKOPO_200411_01.JPG	[2] TAKOPO_200411_05.JPG	[3] TAKOPO_200411_09.JPG
[4] TAKOPO_200411_16.JPG	[5] TAKOPO_200411_20.JPG	[6] TAKOPO_200411_25.JPG
[7] TAKOPO_200712_01.JPG	[8] TAKOPO_200712_05.JPG	[9] TAKOPO_200712_08.JPG
[10] TAKOPO_200712_14.JPG	[11] TAKOPO_200712_18.JPG	[12] TAKOPO_200712_21.JPG
[13] TAKOPO_201211_04.JPG	[14] TAKOPO_201211_07.JPG	[15] TAKOPO_201211_11.JPG
[16] TAKOPO_201211_15.JPG	[17] TAKOPO_201211_17.JPG	[18] TAKOPO_201211_22.JPG

Specific picture descriptions: Photos above with "i" icons next to the bracketed sequence numbers (e.g. "[1] ") are described as follows:
1. TAKOPO_200411_01.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park In the Library Charles Simic for Octavio There's a book called "A Dictionary of Angels." No one has opened it in fifty years, I know, because when I did, The covers creaked, the pages Crumbled. There I discovered The angels were once as plentiful As species of flies. The sky at dusk Used to be thick with them. You had to wave both arms Just to keep them away. Now the sun is shining Through the tall windows. The library is a quiet place. Angels and gods huddled In dark unopened books. The great secret lies On some shelf Miss Jones Passes every day on her rounds. She's very tall, so she keeps Her head tipped as if listening. The books are whispering. I hear nothing, but she does.
2. TAKOPO_200411_05.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Tomato Pies, 25 Cents Grace Cavalieri Tomato pies are what we called them, those days, before Pizza came in, at my Grandmother's restaurant, in Trenton New Jersey. My grandfather is rolling meatballs in the back. He studied to be a priest in Sicily but saved his sister Maggie from marrying a bad guy by coming to America. Uncle Joey is rolling dough and spooning sauce. Uncle Joey, is always scrubbed clean, sobered up, in a white starched shirt, after cops delivered him home just hours before. The waitresses are helping themselves to handfuls of cash out of the drawer, playing the numbers with Moon Mullin and Shad, sent in from Broad Street. 1942, tomato pies with cheese, 25 cents. With anchovies, large, 50 cents. A whole dinner is 60 cents (before 6 pm). How the soldiers, bussed in from Fort Dix, would stand outside all the way down Warren Street, waiting for this new taste treat, young guys in uniform, lined up and laughing, learning Italian, before being shipped out to fight the last great war.
3. TAKOPO_200411_09.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Frogs Louis Simpson
4. TAKOPO_200411_16.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park My Heart is in the East My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west– How can I find savor in food? How shall it be sweet to me? How shall I render my vows and my bonds, while yet Zion lies beneath the fetter of Edom, and I in Arab chains? A light thing would it seem to me to leave all the good things of Spain– Seeing how precious in mine eyes to behold the dust of the desolate sanctuary. Judah Halevi A Palm Tree A palm tree stands in the middle of Rusafa Born in the West, far from the land of palms I said to it, "How like me you are, far away and in exile! In long separation from family and friends You have sprung from soil in which you are a stranger And I, like you, am far away from home" Abd al-Rahman
5. TAKOPO_200411_20.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Lost Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you. If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here. No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren. If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows Where you are. You must let it find you. David Wagoner Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things -- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Gerard Manly Hopkins
6. TAKOPO_200411_25.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park from This New Life, Abigail Petit, 1890 Jana Harris
7. TAKOPO_200712_01.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park from This New Life, Abigail Petit, 1890
8. TAKOPO_200712_05.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park A Blessing James Wright
9. TAKOPO_200712_08.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park I carry your heart with me e.e. cummings
10. TAKOPO_200712_14.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Tomato Pies, 25 cents Grace Cavalieri
11. TAKOPO_200712_18.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Sardines Bernadette Mayer
12. TAKOPO_200712_21.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park On a High Tower Liu Yang
13. TAKOPO_201211_04.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Lost Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you. If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here. No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren. If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows Where you are. You must let it find you. David Wagoner Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things -- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Gerard Manly Hopkins
14. TAKOPO_201211_11.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park My Heart is in the East My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west– How can I find savor in food? How shall it be sweet to me? How shall I render my vows and my bonds, while yet Zion lies beneath the fetter of Edom, and I in Arab chains? A light thing would it seem to me to leave all the good things of Spain– Seeing how precious in mine eyes to behold the dust of the desolate sanctuary. Judah Halevi A Palm Tree A palm tree stands in the middle of Rusafa Born in the West, far from the land of palms I said to it, "How like me you are, far away and in exile! In long separation from family and friends You have sprung from soil in which you are a stranger And I, like you, am far away from home" Abd al-Rahman
15. TAKOPO_201211_17.JPG: Spring for Poetry in Takoma Park Women They were women then My mama's generation Husky of voice -- stout of Step With fists as well as Hands How they battered down Doors And ironed Starched white Shirts How they led Armies Headragged generals Across mined Fields Booby-trapped Ditches To discover books Desks A place for us How they knew what we Must know Without knowing a page Of it Themselves. Alice Walker
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