Sunday, April 2, 2023

MY UNCLE ROBERT

There are many sad stories that often go untold and as the decades pass, lives that were lived fade away. This was 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)




WHITNEY MUSEUM OF ART
EDWARD HOPPER'S NEW YORK



SMALL IS BEAUTIFUL 718 Broadway, New York, NY 




WONDERLAND DREAMS 529 5th Ave, New York, NY 


NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

Virginia Woolf: A Modern Mind




THE JEWISH MUSEUM

Through the Saga of the Sassoon Family


Attributed to William Melville. Portrait of David Sassoon. Oil on canvas; 41 ½ × 33 in.



 


LINCOLN CENTER
Historical Landmarks of San Juan Hill



LEGO Friends Pop-Up 210 10th Ave



THE MET

Berenice Abbott’s New York Album, 1929


Photograph: By Berenice Abbott | West Street, 1936 / 
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Jane and Mark Ciabattari

MoMA 
"Georgia O'Keeffe: To See Takes Time"

Photograph: The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Mr. and Mrs. Donald B. Straus Fund, 1958. © 2022 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New YorkEvening Star No.III, 191


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.

The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh. Saint Rémy, June 1889


THE RUBIN MUSEUM OF ART
Death is Not the End

The Last Judgment; Follower of Hieronymus Bosch, Netherlandish, ca. 1450–1516; late 16th century / Philadelphia Museum of Art


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

IN SEPIA

Then in sepia
Fading old in full soft light 
A strange new vision









Friday, December 2, 2022

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

Friday, November 11, 2022

Puerto Rico, you lovely island


 
1965

The view from my room at the La Concha Hotel:



This is me waving from the balcony of the hotel:

This is me on the beach:

This is my sister in front of the hotel:

And not much has changed regarding the entrance to the hotel 
where she stood so long ago:







Friday, September 23, 2022

Friday, June 17, 2022

MY BORDENTOWN

from ROAD TRIPS, poems






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

Dean and Deana Martin's Nightcap

 My letter was read on Deana Martin's WABC radio show during the "mail time" segment. 



STORM



Wednesday: 

It was a perfect storm

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