judy's corner

[constantine]

it was in patterson park
that we planned the revolution
between hits of hash and acid trips,
maryjane from the mexican highlands,
santa marta golds and reds, colitas wrapped
in blue cellophane, chased with bali hai;
we'd walk to the boat lake along
the herringbone path, singing
the anthems of our youth;
we'd make out on the slope,
twist one, burn it... sweet
morning sun would filter
and diffuse through elder trees
surrealistic heads, animate,
thoughtful, they'd seen it all before;
summer storms in the rainhouse,
benches with slats missing, carved
hieroglyphs, urban scrawl
the poetry of working class children
articulating the perennial themes:
love you or fuck you, signed and dated
documents of the times.
I tell you man - it was my home,
the home between homes,
between loves lost and found.

[Lightning Rod]

I love this, man
I don't have a clue what you mean by it
but it is wonderfully evocative

maybe it's cuz I smell de 'erb mahn

[stilltrucking]

home is where the heart is
patterson park high class of 59
but nobody was getting high
yet
I used to walk the waterfront
from Fells Point
To Federal Hill
playing hookey from school
in the late nineteen forties.

the poetry of working class children

I went back forty years later
The water front of my youth
looked like the French Riviera
Condos and Yachts
and trendy bars and restuarants

Where did the working class go
the waterfront was gone
no rotting wharves
no warehouses
no barges and rust bucket freighters
no ship yards


I got no poetry in me constantine
just these words like cinderblocks
I line them up like walls of text
with carriage returns
you made me homesick
thanks
we were
or at least I was
a conformist lot back then
but we were the first rock and roll generation


I liked your poem a lot

[constantine]

thanks guys. patterson high class of 71. i've done the same walk along the waterfront then and now - i prefer then to now. baltimore.s been sold to the highest bidder. it's been pasteurized

[stilltrucking]

pasteurized

I done know about that,
The world is pasteurized
A burger and fries
And Coke to teach the world to sing

I just wondered where the workers went

I wish I had left off the appology about my non poetry
part of my neurosis I guess.

the Supreme Court appeared divided Tuesday over whether city officials in Connecticut have the authority to seize homes in a working-class neighborhood and turn the property over to private developers.

[Doreen Peri]

A wonderful memory. Sounds like a beautiful time. Also sounds like a perfect retreat, a place and time where you felt totally safe, completely in your element, loved and full of life and dreams.

It's a great idea to write memories into poetry. I need to start writing every day again, as I've said so many times recently. Maybe I'll try this.

Thanks for sharing this, Dino!

[constantine]

thanks guys. doreen, it was a good time despite its eventual drift into darker zones. truck, enjoyed your response/poem. the workers are still around; they are just paid less. the working class is the working poor - we have been reduced in every way except our numbers.

[mnaz]

...we have been reduced in every way except our numbers.

Ain't that the mucho truth...

Enjoyed the ride. Thanks.

[stilltrucking]

I appreciate your tolerance constantine.
There was something so familiar in your poem
and something uncanny too
like pictures from the gone world

thanks for the poetry
who was judy?
was that a corner store?

I went to the old patterson park high shool at the lynwood ave end of the park. there was a store on the corner.

I think the old high school is now a juniour high.

Sorry about the pop quiz

[constantine]

judy's was a confectionary store on eastern and linwood where the hippies who were into downs hung out. i used to hang at the walls on the corner of eastern and ellwood with the pot smoking acid freaks. judy's sounded more prosaic. patterson park high moved farther east to kane st. near the old crosse and blackwell plant and became patterson high. the old patterson became hampstead hill junior high - the shoe factory as we called it.

[stilltrucking]

I went to Hampstead hill when it was still on eastern avenue

Your poem so familiar
Not to tell my life story
But the only reason I went to Patterson Park
Was because I was expelled from City College
City was the school of choice for the kids around Jewtown
Man I got to Patterson I felt like I was on Mars

What a difference a decade makes.
Only time I ever heard the word marijuana in the fifties was from a friend whose brother was a musician. He was trying to turn me on I think, but I was freaked, I thought he was a drug addict.

Trying to think if it was a comfortable safe time for me and whether I would go back. As if I could click my ruby heels together.
I don't think so
Not for me

Talk to the poet
Just a fan of your poetry Constantine
Do poets ever get curious about their fans?
And what their poetry means to them

No need to reply
Probably rhetorical
Questions

Sincerely
jt

We were a conformist lot back in the fifties, no one was talking revolution
The teachers had to sign loyalty oaths
promise the school board they were not commies.
One heroic teacher fired because he tried to reason with them.

The fifties were a spiritual desert.

[constantine]

i'd be interested in knowing more about the mccarthy period in baltimore as well as more of your personal recollections.

[stilltrucking]

ten four
I will be happy to
write about it
I'll post it on snippets.



On the seventies
do you know a baltimore artist named Ron Spencer?
I think he did the murals on the Bromo Seltzer Tower.

[constantine]

not familiar with him, but i'm sure i've seen the mural. it's been 15 yrs. jt since i've been home.