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More prosetry of what happened after that “First Road Trip Alone,” when livin’ bad was just a growin’ up stage. I think there’s a little bit of that gristle still in me.
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NY First Impression Alone (2 of 2)
1956
a street called MacDougal
home turf of Dylan
Ginsberg
Pollock
O’Neill
Caribbean Restaurant
haunt of
Baldwin
Brando
Miller
And me
with my first cup a joe
at Caffe Reggio
out the window
where a pre-Woodstock love child warmed up
tokin’ peace and love
copin’ with undulating heat
risin’ above baking street
meltin’ sidewalk gum wads
spawnin’ grins from delinquent kids takin’ bets
on dancin’ feet
on angry feet
where barbers stare longingly
out cigar clouded windows
long hair the king
haircuts endangered species
me
them
didn’t expect so much hair
you know
such swirling hair
like shredded angel wings
whipping shoulder blades to fly
fly goddamn it
hims
hers
who the hell could tell
heroin induced flashing
parades up one side
down the other
never even gettin’ a raised eyebrow
here
where once I sipped espresso
never blinking
wanting to catch everything
wow
me
midwest born and raised
staring to grow up in NYC
must be a dream
swooning to myself
has to be a dream
man
that first impression
happening so quickly
scary
thrilling
New York City
returning to my Hell’s Kitchen hotel
(picked that special)
settled into my first beer
bells and whistles sounded
all it took at 18
with only 3 weeks into my first taste
(religious upbringing creates cheap drunks)
Schaefer brew
billboards sayin’ “Antonino Rocca’s beer”
flying drop kicker
black and white TV’s biggest draw
wrestling
of course I bought his brand
swirling in wind’s repressive heat
dingy curtains waved in and out my window
merciless captivity
this was Manhattan
I smiled
oh yeah
I smiled
tossed the shirt
grabbed a look in the mirror
sweat glistening atop my skinny frame
me here
all that out there
locked my door
popped another suds
dreamed
gotta get back to that madman’s playground
paradise for a wet-behind-the-ears kid
the real MacDougal street
‘til it wasn’t
‘til they tried to make it…
something else
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
8/9/2012 |
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I'm from Wisconsin and never drank beer. But, I first tasted the counterculture in the Rathskeller in Madison. Later on, I hung on to the flower power of the summer of love in Hashbury. Finally got to the Village once and drank that in too. Made a nice brew. Much fodder for writing.
Ron |
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| Reviewed by Morgan Merriweather |
8/9/2012 |
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| I read one as well,I'll coment here, love hearing other's take on their NY experiences. Everyone has such a differnt take, a street that stood out, the feel of a particular area, the people. enjoyed both! |
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| Reviewed by Jerry Bolton |
8/9/2012 |
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| Baldwin and Miller. Ginsberg. The Duplex. Got in on the last days of the coffee house poets, some called them Beatniks. Later strolling the Village I walked to the other side of the street if Tiny Tim approached. Pizza by the slice. |
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| Reviewed by richard cederberg |
8/9/2012 |
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| An interesting waterfall of memories you've aroused, Odin. Dylan was the only one in your list that influenced me. Enjoyed ... |
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