WORD DAY and More of ‘Where I Left My Heart…’

Bob, my poetry guru, came out to Kerouac's town when I lived there.
Bob, my poetry guru, came out to Kerouac’s town when I lived there.


Sundays are intended to be ‘Word’ Post Days, meaning writing about/or from books, newspapers, classes and sometimes the ‘newish’ media. There is a lot to write about today; the Times Book section has a Russian theme and, since Russia’s on my travel agenda, I am sure there are books there to consider, even order. Also, along those exciting lines, Netflix is launching a new Marco Polo series available December 14th and, since Beth and I will be loosely tracing the explorer’s route next summer, that’s something to look forward to instead of just waiting for the new season of Downton Abbey on January 5th…although PBS has lots of Downton Abbey replays and teasers on most of the day today. AND last but not least, Aljazeera has some Marco Polo hours tonight. Their version is probably more news-oriented than Netflix’ will be and it is very good.

What a nice morning, not even 10AM and I am already feeling much enthusiasm for the world of books and media. And life in general I should add.

There is a little guilt over restarting “The Goldfinch” last night before digging into the Norwegian novels but it is just so damn good. I put it aside before a trip and now am back into it and much in awe of its storytelling—Goldfinch truly deserved the Pulitzer Prize for fiction which it won a year or two ago.

The intent for today’s post however is to talk about my favorite MOOC so far, Modern and Contemporary American Poetry or ModPo as it’s affectionately known. Haven’t turned on the TV for three days (except for one hour of a Netflix Swedish detective). When I feel the urge to plop down on the couch and hit the on button, I instead plop down on my big comfy desk chair and click on Coursera and scroll for the poet people. There they are, the funny professor and those bright and endearing students I’m coming to know. I have the same feeling as I do when I sit down for a visit with Frank and Clair or Piper and her buds. Although, come to think of it, Amri Baraka’s “Incident” has all the mystery of House of Cards’ double dealings and Ted Berrigan seems like a character that could have somehow walked on stage in Orange is the New Black.

 Okay. So I am name-dropping here, proud of the fact I know the names of some actual poets. Thanks for the introduction Bob, this is fun.

It is exciting and invigorating to be learning something new. I keep saying that but it’s true. Am I going into deep and meaningful study of modern and contemporary poets? Well no, but maybe like Bob, I’ll keep taking this class over and over and wind up on the other side an informed and regular reader of poetry.

The big Thanksgiving weekend discovery has been a light bulb moment about why I have liked what little I’ve read in the past of the Beats. It’s the Geography of course. They are everywhere around this country, their lives are one big road trip—which I knew in a way but never linked it with my own love of road trips and PLACES. Kerouac’s “October in the Railroad Earth” has probably been read more times than anyone except Frost (I don’t know that of course!) but it is forever wonderful—at least to anyone who has lived in and loved San Francisco. Can’t resist including a little of it here. Google a site to listen, the background music in his most famous reading does add.

A little bit of “October in the Railroad Earth” by Jack Kerouac

There was a little alley in San Francisco back of the Southern Pacific station at Third and Townsend in redbrick of drowsy lazy afternoons with everybody at work in offices in the air you feel the impending rush of their commuter frenzy as soon they’ll be charging en masse from Market and Sansome buildings on foot and in buses and all well-dressed through  workingman Frisco of Walkup?? truck drivers and even the poor grime-bemarked Third Street of lost bums even Negros so hopeless and long left East and meanings of responsibility and try that now all they do is stand there spitting in the broken glass sometimes fifty in one afternoon against one wall at Third and Howard and here’s all these Millbrae and San Carlos neat-necktied producers and commuters of American and Steel civilizations rushing by with San Francisco Chronicles …                                          Please.  Go to YouTube and listen.

I am so happy to have lived in San Francisco for a little while, a city where just a small piece of a poem or song can evoke so strongly the air and sound and smell and look of a place.

Well, I was going to talk about my ModPo discovery of the New York School but this is too long so that will have to wait until Thursday.

 Sunday is Word Day. Worship at the altar of books and poems and stories in whatever form.

Can’t resist some more old San Francisco photos from when I lived there.

My funky little Mission apartment.
My funky little Mission apartment.
The corner store where the guy sold us single cigarettes. Pretty much the extent of my illegal drug dealing.
The corner store where the guy sold us single cigarettes. Pretty much the extent of my illegal drug dealing.
Robert and Marsha came out for a little Left Coast atmosphere.
Robert and Marsha came out for a little Left Coast atmosphere.
A favorite market.
A favorite market.
Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.
Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.


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