Friday, November 13, 2020 - City facades - Park Slope: Fourth Avenue and Fifth Street. by Jordan Myers
The morning of the New York Marathon: November 4, 2018.
Thursday, November 12, 2020 - As Governor Cuomo sends New Yorkers to bed early, Anthony Fauci insists: we shall not rest. by Jordan Myers
This is what you do when cases start spiking; per the Governor’s orders: no bars, restaurants or gyms past 10:00pm.
Two saving graces haven’t arrived just yet, but they’re close: (1) a vaccine; and (2) a new president and vice president come January 20th, 2021.
Even if there are doubts as to whether Governor Cuomo should be sending New Yorkers to bed early, this much remains clear: Anthony Fauci is insisting, we shall not rest:
"Ever since it became clear a few days ago that we have a really quite effective vaccine getting ready to deploy, [the message] is rather than 'Hey don't worry you're OK,' it's 'Don't stop shooting, the cavalry is coming but don't put your weapons down, you better keep fighting because they're not here yet,' " Fauci said.
The Hill
Peter Sullivan
“Fauci: Coronavirus won't be a pandemic
for 'a lot longer' thanks to vaccines”
November 12th, 2020
Wednesday, November 11, 2020 - Veterans Day, glazed with rain. by Jordan Myers
A rainy Veterans Day in New York. The sunny skies and balmy weather, like a worldwide tour, have packed up and left town –––– and we’re left with this: not heavy sheets of rain rushing downwards from the sky, but a steady and quiet pitter-patter of rain drops.
This evening it feels like the city is on a one year rain delay. Not just the rain falling, but also the emptiness of Midtown Manhattan, which gets exaggerated each time the clouds roll in. What will these streets feel like come winter?
Tuesday, November 10, 2020 - City facades: Twenty-ninth Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenue. by Jordan Myers
This is turning out to be the week of city facades. After hosting the voices and work of Elizabeth Lerman, Kate Alsbury, Jade Brown, Rebecca Nison, Kate Gina, Rahil Najafabadi, and Kellie Coppi last month; and then adjusting to these new, clear, and calming energies after the election, I’m taking a bit more time to breathe this week, and writing less for these Dailies.
We’ll be hosting a number of new voices over the remaining weeks in November, along with new pieces by at least a few of the authors mentioned above.
This evening’s city facade, along with the last two days worth of photos, were shot in and around the west side of Manhattan on Sunday, the day after the election results were called.
Following the jubilation and joy that filled the city for almost all of Saturday, I’ll always remember the next day as a twenty-four hour interlude of euphoria: the sky: crystal clear blue, the temperature: an airy high sixties to mid-seventies ––– without a trace of humidity, and the city: sleeping in and resting peacefully with the promise of new leaders taking hold of United States’ Executive Branch; a new President and Vice President in Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, waiting in the wings. Or, said otherwise: a new day, and a new dawn.
Saturday, November 7, 2020 - President Joseph R. Biden & Vice President Kamala D. Harris. by Jordan Myers
I took this photo about an hour before the election results were called. The city was still quiet. This morning I tried but I could not remember what a Saturday afternoon felt like before this past March. For a while I held an image in my mind: meeting someone two autumns ago at Fiftieth Street and Sixth Avenue.
I tried to remember all of the people going on about their lives in the background who were a part of of the scene. I didn’t know that I was taking them for granted. I didn’t know they could be gone; that years later, I’d forget what it was like to have them there.
This pandemic has taken so much away from our city.
With an exacting clarity I remember taking the Staten Island Ferry on the afternoon after the 2016 election, sunk, defeated, and wondering how we’d make it through the next four years. Just as clearly, I remember looking over and up at the Statue of Liberty and right away thinking of all that this country has already endured.
A feeling of comfort and grace overcame me. I didn’t have today in mind, but something like it. I couldn’t trace all that would have to happen in order to make today possible, but I thought it might happen; that we’d all be able to breathe again.
Like millions, today I’ve cried tears of reflection, joy, release, surrender and gratitude. There’s more work and living to do of course. But at least we have a chance. At least we have a chance.
Congratulations President Joseph Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris. And thank you for your work, your faith, and your courage.
Friday, November 6, 2020. by Jordan Myers
In between dreams, a flare, a whisper
of sound ––– the voice from beyond
that strikes like a match. Sweltering city,
the heat of November, with glass facades
covered by boards, wood left without paint,
braced for bricks, braced for battle, braced
for cries of fraud, braced for fears of change.
This must have been more than four years:
making America great again was a bust again.
Though something has to happen now.
The curtains closing, the light coming back on
and the audience, who are one with the actors,
should be getting up from their seats and drifting
toward the exit by now. Almost seventy million
demanding, begging, waving their flags ––––
needing an encore. Almost seventy-five million
with quiet tears of reflection, stepping out
into the streets at dusk, having an evening
or two, or three months, to rejoice.
Then emboldened, wiser, and having seen
and having felt –––––– and wanting to heal
these quintessential American wounds; rising
the next morning: and going back, to work.
Wednesday, November 4, 2020. by Jordan Myers
10:12am awaiting / searching for final results in: Wisconsin, Georgia, North Carolina, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Nevada.
From last night:
Maine (3) - Biden (223)
Maine (1) - Trump (213);
Hawaii (4) - Biden (227);
From today:
Wisconsin (10) - Biden (237);
Michigan (16) - Biden (253);
________________________
Last night I tracked MSNBC’s Decision 2020’s coverage of the election; tuning in at around 7:00pm and staying up until a half hour after 2:00am; spending an evening with Rachel Madow, Joy Reid, and Nicole Wallace. It should not be overlooked: Steve Kornacki did work at the big board. In particular, his ability to interpret the votes as they were coming in county-by-county and then comparing those results to the 2016 Clinton / Trump race was helpful, as the numbers offered a sense of ground that Biden had made up from 2016, or ––– in the case of Miami-Dade County in Florida, had lost.
In order to skip past commercials, I had the blessing of watching the coverage about fifteen minutes behind from real time –––– hence, the call-times that are listed below are a few minutes behind when they were actually called live. While Brian Williams’ calls of projected outcomes had a way of generating small waves of suspense and excitement just before the screen shifted to a visual of what looked like Rockefeller Plaza –––– one half blue, and the other half read, as for the actual results, there were no surprises. Often the projections amounted to “Too Early to Call,” and “Too close to call.”
And with the exception of the Nebraska’s second congressional, the only electoral college vote that Biden, as of last night, was able to flip from Trump, the states that had voted Republican in 2016 were voting red again in 2020. But this is part of what made the night interesting: North Carolina, Georgia, Arizona, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania are all missing from this list below; as not one of those states were projected by MSNBC last night.
The highlight for me was watching Joe Biden deliver remarks from Wilmington, Delaware; which I started watching at 1:02am and transcribed below. In my mind, he said everything that he needed to say, and he said it with just enough confidence and calm.
The President spoke about an hour later; and by then, I had nodded off and slipped into and out of sleep at least once or twice. It was a blessing to still be fifteen minutes behind MSNB’s coverage. As when Trump approached the podium of the East Wing, I was quite lucky: pressing the “15sec > forward” button frequently. Everything he said was nonsense at best, though much closer to frightening and dangerous ––– more than hinting at an intent to incite civil discourse and violence on account of an inability for state governments to count hundreds of thousands of votes within three to five hours. And I was glad to turn off the last remaining light in my apartment, close my laptop, and actively decide to go to bed without hearing him speak; instead, having Vice President Biden’s remarks making a deeper impression in my heart and mind:
“And folks, you heard me say it before: every time I’d walk out of my grandpa’s house up in Scranton he’d yell, ‘Joey, keep the faith.’ And then my grandma, she would be laughing and she would always say, ‘No, Joey, spread it.’
Keep the faith guys, we’re going to win this. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Your patience is great.”
Tuesday, November 3, 2020. by Jordan Myers
I tracked MSNBC’s Decision 2020’s coverage of the election; tuning in at around 7:00pm and staying up until a half hour after 2:00am; spending an evening with Rachel Madow, Joy Reid, and Nicole Wallace. It should not be overlooked: Steve Kornacki did work at the big board. In particular, his ability to interpret the votes as they were coming in county-by-county and then comparing those results to the 2016 Clinton / Trump race was helpful, as the numbers offered a sense of ground that Biden had made up from 2016, or ––– in the case of Miami-Dade County in Florida, had lost.
In order to skip past commercials, I had the blessing of watching the coverage about fifteen minutes behind from real time –––– hence, the call-times that are listed below are a few minutes behind when they were actually called live. While Brian Williams’ calls of projected outcomes had a way of generating small waves of suspense and excitement just before the screen shifted to a visual of what looked like Rockefeller Plaza –––– one half blue, and the other half red, as for the actual results, there were no surprises. Often the projections amounted to “Too Early to Call,” and “Too close to call.”
And with the exception of the Nebraska’s second congressional, the only electoral college vote that Biden, as of last night, was able to flip from Trump, the states that had voted Republican in 2016 were voting red again in 2020. But this is part of what made the night interesting: North Carolina, Georgia, Arizona, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania are all missing from this list below; as not one of those states were projected by MSNBC last night.
The highlight for me was watching Joe Biden deliver remarks from Wilmington, Delaware; which I started watching at 1:02am and transcribed below. In my mind, he said everything that he needed to say, and he said it with just enough confidence and calm.
The President spoke about an hour later; and by then, I had nodded off and slipped into and out of sleep at least once or twice. It was a blessing to still be fifteen minutes behind MSNB’s coverage. As when Trump approached the podium of the East Wing, I was quite lucky: pressing the “15sec > forward” button frequently. Everything he said was nonsense, though much closer to frightening and dangerous ––– more than hinting at an intent to incite civil discourse and violence on account of an inability for state governments to count hundreds of thousands of votes within three to five hours And I was glad to turn off the last remaining light in my apartment, close my laptop, and actively decide to go to bed without hearing him speak; instead, having Vice President Biden’s remarks making a deeper impression in my heart and mind:
“And folks, you heard me say it before: every time I’d walk out of my grandpa’s house up in Scranton he’d yell, ‘Joey, keep the faith.’ And then my grandma, she would be laughing and she would always say, ‘No, Joey, spread it.’
Keep the faith guys, we’re going to win this. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Your patience is great.”
7:07pm - Indiana (11): - Donald J. Trump (11);
7:19pm - Vermont (3): - Joseph R. Biden (3);
7:44pm - Kentucky (8): - Donald J. Trump (19);
8:00pm - New Jersey (14): - Joseph R. Biden (17);
8:00pm - Massachusetts (11): - Joseph R. Biden (28);
8:00pm - Maryland (10): - Joseph R. Biden (38);
8:00pm - Oklahoma (7): - Donald J. Trump (26);
8:00pm - Delaware (3): - Joseph R. Biden (41);
8:00pm - District of Columbia (3): - Joseph R. Biden (44);
8:15pm - Tennessee (11): - Donald J. Trump (37)
8:23pm - West Virginia (5): - Donald J. Trump (42);
8:23pm - Connecticut (7): - Joseph R. Biden (51);
8:51pm - Arkansas (6): - Donald J. Trump (48);
9:01pm - New York (29): - Joseph R. Biden (80);
9:10pm - South Dakota (3): - Donald J. Trump (51);
9:20pm - Colorado (9): - Joseph R. Biden (89);
9:24pm - North Dakota (3): - Donald J. Trump (54);
9:30pm - Alabama (9): - Donald J. Trump (63);
9:33pm - South Carolina (9): - Donald J. Trump (72);
10:10pm - New Mexico (5): - Joseph R. Biden (94);
10:21pm - Louisiana (8): - Donald J. Trump (80)
10:21pm - Kansas (6): - Donald J. Trump (86);
10:23pm - New Hampshire (4): - Joseph R. Biden (98);
10:40pm - Utah (6): - Donald J. Trump (92);
10:45pm - Missouri (10): - Donald J. Trump (102);
10:51pm - Illinois (20): - Joseph R. Biden - (118);
10:56pm - Nebraska (west) (5 split electoral votes) - Donald J. Trump (105);
11:00pm - Mississippi (6) - Donald J. Trump (111);
11:00pm - Wyoming (3) - Donald J. Trump (114);
11:07pm - California (55) - Joseph R. Biden (173);
11:10pm - Oregon (7) - Joseph R. Biden (180);
11:11pm - Washington (12) - Joseph R. Biden (192);
12:05am - Ohio (18) - Donald J. Trump (132);
12:11am - Idaho (4) - Donald J. Trump (136);
12:12am - Virginia (13) - Joseph R. Biden - (205);
12:50am - Florida (29) - Donald J. Trump - (165);
______________________________
1:02am
Joe Biden - A Message from Delaware:
Hello to Delaware!
Hello! Hello! Hello!
Good evening:
Your patience is commendable. We knew this was going to go long, but who knew we were going to go maybe into tomorrow morning, and maybe into longer, but look: we feel good about where we are. We really do.
I am here to tell you tonight, we believe w’re on track to win this election. We knew, because of the unprecedented early vote and the mail-in vote, that it was going to take a while. And we’re going to have to be patient until the hard work of tallying votes is finished. And it ain’t over until every vote is counted; and until every ballot is counted.
But we’re feeling good. We’re feeling good about where we are. One of the networks has already suggested that we’ve won Arizona, and we’re confident about Arizona ––– that’s a turn-around. It was also just called for us winning Minnesota. And we’re still in the game in Georgia; although that’s not what we expected.
We’re feeling really good about Wisconsin and Michigan. And by the way, it’s going to take time to count the votes, but we’re going to win Pennsylvania. I’ve been talking to folks in Philly, Allegheny County, and Scranton, and they’re really encouraged by the turnout and what they’ve seen.
Look, we can know the results by as early as tomorrow morning, but it may take a little longer. As I’ve said all along, it’s not my place or Donald Trump’s place to declare who has won this election –––– that’s the decision of the American people. But I’m optimistic about this outcome. And I want to thank every one of you who came out and voted during this election.
And by the way, Chris Coons, the Democrat, congratulations here in Delaware. Hey, John! You’re the gov! The whole team, man; you’ve done a great job. I’m grateful to the poll-workers, to our volunteers, to our canvassers, everyone who participated in this democratic process. And I’m grateful to all of my supporters –––– here in Delaware and across the nation. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
And folks, you heard me say it before: every time I’d walk out of my grandpa’s house up in Scranton he’d yell, “Joey, keep the faith.” And then my grandma, she would be laughing and she would always say, “No, Joey, spread it.”
Keep the faith guys, we’re going to win this. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Your patience is great.
______________________________
1:20am - Iowa (6) - Donald J. Trump - (171);
1:35am - Texas (38) - Donald J. Trump (209);
1:38am - Montana (3) - Donald J. Trump (212);
1:45am - Rhode Island (4) - Joseph R. Biden (209);
1:50am - Nebraska’s Second Congressional District (Omaha 1) - Joseph R. Biden (210);
2:02am - Minnesota (10) - Joseph R. Biden (220);
Monday, November 2, 2020 - As quiet as it’s kept. by Jordan Myers
Nearly one hundred million votes for this year’s presidential election have already been cast. Only a select few have a sense of how those votes are shaking out, and to which candidate they’re leaning: the incumbent, or the former vice president. This evening, we can’t know how many votes will be cast tomorrow. Though in less than twenty-four hours, we’ll have more than a few answers. And from those answers; ideally, as few new questions as possible.
Sunday, November 1, 2020 - “All hands up, salute the Empire State,” - Guster (2006). by Jordan Myers
As for Manhattan, from Two hundred and twenty-fifth Street down to Battery Park, there are only a few new places left to see. Nearly every street I’ve walked or biked across, each avenue I’ve witnessed at least once from the ground level. Yet still an entire city remains to be explored –––– not by sight, but by possibility; angles and projections; voices and sounds; memories and images. Nothing in New York ever happens twice. There is no same-old same-old. This is the paradox: it doesn’t matter how many times one walks these streets; they cannot be seen in their entirety. As each passing moment, they’ve changed. “All hands up, salute the Empire State.”
Saturday, October 31, 2020 - “Her Cherry Colored Lips” by Jade Brown
HER CHERRY COLORED LIPS
“Can you stand?” Her crow’s feet expanded. The bath water had cooled down enough to stutter her into remembrance. Her breath was keeping tabs on the time that laid idle around her. Perhaps she was floating.
“Not yet,” she now hummed when she spoke. I liked to see the vibrations rummage through her diaphragm. Yes, please keep her moving.
The towel has now smothered itself for her comfort. I pull it from under her bum to wring out over the tiny sink. The water festers about the room, telling us both to cry. I look over and her stare still revokes a scenery. The vent above the tub tries to out sing her hums, but instead falls victim to the perseverance of death. My throat clenches. I settle the nausea with a story, propping myself onto the rim.
“Toy was telling me,” I swallowed melancholy, pushing a grin. “Toy was telling me how Gail’s family has a game room in their basement. They invited me over sometime to play Street Fighter.”
She winces. Not from the invite but powerlessness. “That’s so nice.”
“I’m excited. Toy told me that Gail is pretty good at Street Fighter, but I don’t think she’s better than me.”
“No one is better than you, sweetie,” her eyelids fold over. “Can you get the back of my neck?”
I lift the pixie cut wig just enough to drench her nape. She spares me some room, or what she convinces herself is sufficient. She was only in her fifties, but the way her body held its breath made her appear twenty years older. Bath water is too translucent. I’ve never seen my mother naked before this day, and somehow I knew, it would probably be the last time I’d ever see her at all.
Perpendicular the boisterous vent, was a compact window. It soothed a warm cobalt air inside, and reminded me that dinner time was approaching. I tried to picture the scant pantry, but maybe I didn’t want to. My recollection could only come up with black beans, kidney beans and whole kernel corn. For the past few weeks that was all my buds could get a hold of. Toy had taken the last stack of string cheese to his overnight shift.
Greedy.
“We might have some beans in there if you want that for dinner,” I repositioned myself to my knees, resting my elbows beside her. Steadily to not strike her.
“Do we have franks? Can you make franks and beans? I like Nathan’s.”
“We might have the chicken kind. Nathan’s is too much,” I really don’t even think we have the chicken kind anymore.
“I want Nathan’s. Can you take the card and go to the shop to get some?”
There was no money on that card. Probably like $3.14, which can only get two bags of chips, one Nutty Bar and four ice cream sandwiches.
“Oh! I think we got some ham in there. How about one of my famous ham sandwiches?”
Her fingers, now rippled and thin, massaged the surface of the water. She slapped it gently, causing a catapulted drop to dab my forearm. That was a yes. I hesitated for a second, realizing the slick leathery makeup of the cold-cut may be too difficult for her to swallow. There was also a pack of shrimp ramen in there, if I pour the flavoring into a cup of a hot water, it’ll make a descent soup.
It’s settled.
“Lila,” hummmmm. “Did you start your homework?”
I looked at my backpack leaning up at the end of the corridor. It was opened. Not because I had started, but the moment I got home I found her in a stew of her own feces.
“Lila!” She smiled when she called my name then. “You’re home!”
I ripped out three sheets of looseleaf from my Rugrats binder and used them to shield the mess. I don’t know whose sight I was trying to redirect, mine or hers. Toy was gone. He’s been leaving earlier and earlier each day. Spending all his time off with Gail. When I first stumbled in, my mother shouted out Antoine with grief and rage. For Toy’s sake, I wish I were him.
“I’ll get to it after dinner,” also avoiding fractions. “Can you stand now?”
Her vision rose. I could see her strolling to a nearby playground. Running her hand across the rubber swing to make sure it wasn’t hot enough to peel skin. Looking down at the auburn mulch, testing to see the best time to fall into it knee first. Listening for the sounds of the sprinkler. Instead, eloping to a Latina selling ices from a broken eggshell cart. My mom always loved cherry, the same natural color of her lips. The topping she’s left on my life. She had no money, but she stands to watch others who do. She smiles while reclining deeper into her own tears.
She smiles at me, “I’m so sorry, Lila.”
I remove the brittle wig from her scalp. Scarce brown puffs grow in patches. I kiss the the edge of her forehead, closer to her nasal bridge. My arms create a wreath around her head, allowing her face to be the celebrated centerpiece. A stream diverges from her eyes to my white button down. I release her.
Hummmmm.
She gifts me the scene of a playground.
I try my best to drown it out.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Jade Brown is a fiction writer and poet based in New York City. Her work focuses on liberating women who are shoved in dehumanizing categories, with emphasis on women of color. Jade's heavy use of allegories in her writing brings light to social construct, racial dynamic, and feminine opulence.
Friday, October 30, 2020 - Postcards from New York: West Thirty-fifth Street. by Jordan Myers
Caught Midtown at dusk. Was walking along West 35th Street when I looked south and saw this sea of green, “Car 60.” The Midtown Manhattan crowds are long gone; though there’s something different that’s taken their place: waves of life. Every few moments one or two people, or a group of people will walk by; just enough life to show that it’s still a reasonable thing to do: to live in New York, to work in Manhattan. A few of the people who passed by were on their cell phone, business calls; snippets of conversations: e-mails to be sent on Monday; plans for when to show an apartment over the weekend; reflections on presentations given earlier this week: hit or miss? Yay or nay? Sources say a long and dark winter awaits. Sunday’s a twenty-five hour day. On account of the cold, it’s growing less reasonable to sit down and have a meal outside. Even so, I’m settling in; adjusting, and growing more comfortable with this new pace of life.
A previous version of this postcard mistakenly referenced Sunday, November 1, 2020 as a twenty-three hour day, rather than its actual duration: twenty-five hours. I mixed up Daylight Saving Times’ ending and beginning. As of this writing, I’m quite glad to have that hour back from this spring.
Thursday, October 29, 2020 - Five authors of Greenwich Village - as told by Kate Alsbury - Henry James in Washington Square
Each Thursday of this month, Kate Alsbury has guided prose and photography tours of five of the most notable authors who have called Greenwich Village home: Mark Twain, Edgar Allen Poe, Willa Cather, and John Updike. The final installment of this series features a look back at the work and life of Henry James, as presented below.
All of our best,
Curlew Quarterly
_____________________________________________________________________________________
WASHINGTON SQUARE’S INFLUENCE ON HENRY JAMES
Author Henry James was born at 21 (a bit of disagreement here, some say it was at 2) Washington Place in April of 1843 — just a block away from the park. His grandmother lived down the street.
Growing up in Greenwich Village during the Nineteenth Century, it’s no wonder much of his work reflects scenes of society in and around the city. The impression it made on him was lasting.
Though he never claimed it was autobiographical, his novel Washington Square certainly seems to draw on elements of his early life, describing in detail the distinctness of the houses and social manners that lent the neighborhood its flair:
“The ideal of quiet and of genteel retirement, in 1835, was found in Washington Square, where the Doctor built himself a handsome, modern, wide-fronted house, with a big balcony before the drawing-room windows, and a flight of marble steps ascending to a portal which was also faced with white marble. This structure, and many of its neighbours, which it exactly resembled, were supposed, forty years ago, to embody the last results of architectural science, and they remain to this day very solid and honourable dwellings. In front of them was the Square, containing a considerable quantity of inexpensive vegetation, enclosed by a wooden paling, which increased its rural and accessible appearance; and round the corner was the more august precinct of the Fifth Avenue, taking its origin at this point with a spacious and confident air which already marked it for high destinies. I know not whether it is owing to the tenderness of early associations, but this portion of New York appears to many persons the most delectable. It has a kind of established repose which is not of frequent occurrence in other quarters of the long, shrill city; it has a riper, richer, more honourable look than any of the upper ramifications of the great longitudinal thoroughfare—the look of having had something of a social history. It was here, as you might have been informed on good authority, that you had come into a world which appeared to offer a variety of sources of interest; it was here that your grandmother lived, in venerable solitude, and dispensed a hospitality which commended itself alike to the infant imagination and the infant palate; it was here that you took your first walks abroad, following the nursery-maid with unequal step and sniffing up the strange odour of the ailantus-trees which at that time formed the principal umbrage of the Square, and diffused an aroma that you were not yet critical enough to dislike as it deserved…”
The novel follows the main character as she slowly realizes the truth of her circumstances and the somewhat oppressive nature of society.
Despite the elegant rigidity of a structured life that the story evokes, James looked back fondly on his childhood.
Edith Wharton found inspiration in Henry’s work, rooting her 1920 novel, The Age of Innocence, in Washington Square. It touches on some of the same high-society issues that James often highlighted, while enhancing the storyline with her personal experiences in New York’s high-life. During his career, James focused more heavily on what he knew best, the differences and similarities between America and Europe.
Influenced by lengthy visits to London and continental Europe throughout his life, their literature and society made a significant impact on his work, while leaving him feeling like an outsider — even in his own country.
But cultural anomalies weren’t the only reason he felt this way. After a lengthy stay abroad, he returned to New York to find the architecture and esthetic of his old neighborhood changed considerably.
The arch in the park was erected in 1892, designed by New York’s celebrity architect Stanford White, to celebrate the centennial of George Washington’s inauguration (Henry hated this especially).
Fondly sentimental of his childhood, he recalled the beauty and warmth of his early years in the city when writing to Mary Cadwalader (A New York socialite — Edith Wharton’s sister by marriage) in October of 1902: “Pretty, very pretty, as it used to be, New York Autumn, and in the Washington Squareish region trodden by the steps of my childhood, and I wonder if you ever kick the October leaves as you walk in Fifth Avenue, as I can to this hour feel myself, hear myself, positively smell myself doing. But perhaps there are no leaves and no trees now in Fifth Avenue—nothing but patriotic arches, Astor hotels and Vanderbilt palaces.”
After he returned to New York from Europe in 1904, he found the house he had grown up in torn down. He said the area was “ruthlessly suppressed.” The cold, crude buildings that were edging in on his idyllic memories made him feel as if he’d been “amputated of half of my history.”
The architecture of Greenwich Village — and Henry's attitude toward the city — transformed irreversibly.
Kate Alsbury is a writer and marketing consultant. Her creative work has appeared in journals like Frogpond and Modern Haiku, along with several anthologies.
Tuesday, October 27, 2020 - “Rocky Mountain High” by Elizabeth Lerman
I drive through the Rocky Mountains and listen to John Denver sing what I am seeing and the grays and blues of the sky threaten both rain and sun and the February chill has frosted my window but I have to feel the air on my skin and so I drive, with the windows down, through the narrow Rocky roads and I let the wind sting my cheeks and smile at the crispness of the pain. Let the wind break me down, let the cold slice my skin and when I bleed let the mountains feel it. I am alone and I love it. What a moment I am sharing with myself.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Elizabeth Lerman is a creative writer based in New York City. A graduate from the University of Vermont, where she earned her B.A in Film Studies and English Literature, Elizabeth is passionate about forging strong female voices and diverse narratives. In her writing she focuses on the significance of small moments and the space they hold in both her thoughts and those of her characters. Elizabeth currently lives in Brooklyn where she is working, slowly but surely, on her first novel.
Monday, October 26, 2020 - East 49th Street & Park Avenue. by Jordan Myers
One car engine / accelerating,
the rumble of the six train
beneath Lexington Avenue,
the rear wheel of a bicycle
rotating / after the rain / heading south
on Park Avenue / crossing East 49th Street.
The sound of a taxi cab turning left,
a stop light turning from red to green,
the color maroon on a quarter-zip fleece,
a Colorado license plate on a white Lexus suv;
the twenty-sixth day of October 8:22pm.
