Sunday, April 2, 2023
MY UNCLE ROBERT
Thursday, March 2, 2023
MUSEUM EXHIBITS
from THE NEW-YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY
“I’ll Have What She’s Having”: The Jewish Deli
TITANIC THE EXHIBITION 526 6th Avenue, New York, NY
(Southeast Corner of W. 14th Street at 6th Avenue)
Virginia Woolf: A Modern Mind
Through the Saga of the Sassoon Family
Attributed to William Melville. Portrait of David Sassoon. Oil on canvas; 41 ½ × 33 in.
LEGO Friends Pop-Up 210 10th Ave
Berenice Abbott’s New York Album, 1929
THE MET
"Wheat Field with Cypresses" and "The Starry Night"—will be on display together in a new exhibition at The Met starting this spring. The show, titled "Van Gogh's Cypresses," will be the first to focus on the artist's fascination with the flamelike trees.
Saturday, December 24, 2022
THE YEARLY VISUAL
For decades, every year at Christmas time
I tried to create a sublime rhyme.
I would exit my building and see a sight to behold
And with excitement, so many thoughts would unfold.
The Santa so silver and huge and and it lit up the street
And all those people walking when I heard their feet
Going here and there, this way and that, in front of me
After cars passed, I really had nothing else to see.
The tree in my lobby was part of that picture so pretty
I finally took pen in hand to write this little ditty.
But you see, I want you to read between the lines.
I want you to be able to see through my eyes to the signs:
I am old now and grey and getting older every day
So I ponder: will this be the last time I get to see it and say
Happy holidays to you and those passing along the highway?
--- Marjorie J. Levine © 2022
Friday, December 16, 2022
Friday, December 2, 2022
Tuesday, November 22, 2022
Friday, November 11, 2022
Friday, September 23, 2022
Wednesday, June 29, 2022
Friday, June 17, 2022
MY BORDENTOWN
This one goes way back,
Back to the morning the doll was unboxed
And the wrapping paper was so shiny
It reflected the bend in the day.
Decades ago, the doorbell rang...
Four eyebrows raised in arches, red lipstick
Covered many white teeth, and a kettle boiled.
The aunts welcomed them and celebrated the
Day they arrived on old Burlington Street.
That old storied house smelled like yesterday’s mothballs
And in the dim light the teen sensed the ghosts of ancestors
Walking through the rooms of the house, a house that
Had many concealed rooms and probably many secrets to hide.
But they sat in the muted foyer decorated in bland colors
And had dark tea and sweet cakes and talked about family
And reminisced about distant relatives
Who at one place in time were so much closer
They could see each other's breath Falling from tongues.
And then the teen climbed a very steep narrow staircase
To a room with a low ceiling and greeted an old uncle
Who lay in his bed covered by a white chenille worn
Bedspread and he beckoned for her to go closer
Because he did not even know her name.
That was not the first time the teen breathed air
On Burlington Street.
There was an echo from a day long ago
Of a time when the child was so young she had to hold
Her grandmother’s hand when she left that house.
It was a hot summer day when all was still
And everybody walked more slowly.
The quiet sounds on the street soon melted away
As they moved closer to the corner.
They followed the sound of the happy music
Until they were in front of
The Clara Barton School.
The old one room schoolhouse was
Surrounded by a white picket fence.
Until that day parties were a different experience.
On that day it was red ribbons, red balloons
And red velvet cakes that stuck to her teeth
As would, in later years, her aunts’ lipstick.
And inside everybody was playing and dancing
And doing little things that mattered.
They sat on a worn bench by the window and the view
Settled in and with one gasp the intoxicating
Memory of that party was forever set like
Solid stone inside her.
The hard rocks on the pavement during the walk back
Grew envious.
Wednesday, June 15, 2022
STORM
Wednesday:
On a particular almost desolate highway.
The curves in the grounded road were often
Filled with traffic but on stormy days,
Sometimes not.
There was a sudden present on one day
One hard rainy day when water filled the air
In moments that gathered and pushed to
A new present with water and visible
Angled lightning that passed in the rear view.
One life, that on most stripped down days
Barely mattered to many or oddly even any,
Turned and that dusk was carved into memory.
On that day, it was a blurry remarkable
Occurrence that happened in almost
Darkness, when the grey ripples
Of thunder in the air parted and
Forced her to listen to nothing.
But she remembered,
She remembered… to slow down.
And then with no warning,
A rapid appearance startled.
And right, moving to left,
From one side to the other side
Two old bent strangers with
No umbrellas, but holding hands…
Crossed the road.
© Marjorie J. Levine 2021