Tuesday, September 02, 2003
party for the marriage of Greg Fuchs and Allison
"I call it 'Can't A Brother Get A Dove!?'"
--Matt McGoldrick, 2:30 a.m. at the party,
after jumping up and down and flapping
one of those hot august nights where people work hard to not smell like people. but everyone seemed to forget about the heat soon enough, maybe even enjoy it, together. we were handed fans--big red hearts with 23 smaller white hearts on the surface. i broke three of them between gin and tonics.
Shiva & Shakti were Greg & Allison dancing--Edmund Berrigan singing YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, filling us with a new sense of old timey southern sweetness. they use dynamite to squelch oil well fires. but Shiva burns from Shakti's waters, so how then?
setting sun reflected off Empire State Building, making image of a profile, of, Elvis for me. wonder who it was for anyone else in New York bothering to look up that evening?
Anselm Berrigan, John Coletti and Frank Sherlock all read FANTASTIC poems specially written for the newlyweds, quite a trio. wish i had copies of those poems, beautiful things.
the dance floor was the muscle in the large apartment. it was nice lingering in the calmer loins, just outside the ecstatic, hammering feet, sipping good gin and talking to the many poets milling about.
Charles took 2 photographs of the dancers from a chair. i watched how the flashbulb froze them from my angle, but it's the camera's angle that captured them for everyone to see. my vantage will fade each time remembered, getting the poses different, the colors and expressions different, each time, until lost. it makes me think about how much work there is still to do for poetry.
something i'll always remember with a smile is the small crowd waiting outside the closed door to John Coletti's bedroom for Greg and Allison to get finished with a little private moment so everyone can get their coats and go home.
it's one of the few traditions i enjoy, celebrating love and union.
CAConrad
--Matt McGoldrick, 2:30 a.m. at the party,
after jumping up and down and flapping
one of those hot august nights where people work hard to not smell like people. but everyone seemed to forget about the heat soon enough, maybe even enjoy it, together. we were handed fans--big red hearts with 23 smaller white hearts on the surface. i broke three of them between gin and tonics.
Shiva & Shakti were Greg & Allison dancing--Edmund Berrigan singing YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, filling us with a new sense of old timey southern sweetness. they use dynamite to squelch oil well fires. but Shiva burns from Shakti's waters, so how then?
setting sun reflected off Empire State Building, making image of a profile, of, Elvis for me. wonder who it was for anyone else in New York bothering to look up that evening?
Anselm Berrigan, John Coletti and Frank Sherlock all read FANTASTIC poems specially written for the newlyweds, quite a trio. wish i had copies of those poems, beautiful things.
the dance floor was the muscle in the large apartment. it was nice lingering in the calmer loins, just outside the ecstatic, hammering feet, sipping good gin and talking to the many poets milling about.
Charles took 2 photographs of the dancers from a chair. i watched how the flashbulb froze them from my angle, but it's the camera's angle that captured them for everyone to see. my vantage will fade each time remembered, getting the poses different, the colors and expressions different, each time, until lost. it makes me think about how much work there is still to do for poetry.
something i'll always remember with a smile is the small crowd waiting outside the closed door to John Coletti's bedroom for Greg and Allison to get finished with a little private moment so everyone can get their coats and go home.
it's one of the few traditions i enjoy, celebrating love and union.
CAConrad
