Oct 28 25
Went to a poetry reading at TJ Byrnes, the Irish bar in FiDi thats cheap enough to rent that downtown hipsters have events there. Genevieve wanted to go for some social reason, I tagged along because the sole graffiti artist whose graffiti I like was reading something. No readings were notable except for one woman, who was an English professor at Columbia, and apparently, seasoned in these kind of readings. Everyone else was quite timid, including the 16 year old host who had put the whole thing on, so during each reading, someone pushed up the volume of the microphone until, by the time this woman started to read, the mic was blazing hot- vibrating just under feedback level.
The woman approached the microphone and said- “This is a found poem” and began- her ordinary reading voice rendered as a deafening public address.
Her poem, over the speaker, completely drowned out the mayoral debate which was taking place in the background1 on the bar’s TV.
The poem began “Fresh Pond Road Boost Mobile Store by A Wireless & Phone Repair Service Repair Center We Fix Phones Naprwimy Telofony Komputery Tabletki”
I recognized this as a sign near the main road near my house just off of the M stop.
“Happy Laundromat ATM Contactless Card System Service Northside Driving Service CDL Driving School DMV Service Mandala Nails and Spa”
I recognized these too- these were signs on the street near my house. I surmised the found poem came about during a walk just by where I lived. She continued, “IRS Return Service Requested. Jacob Arthur Sillers.” She must have been in my foyer. I had just recovered this particular piece of mail- I owed about $150 in back taxes to the State. I thought I had paid it in full, but I guess I haven’t, and have forgotten to deal with it so far.
“Permutation City Dispatches Hindu Primary Sources The Structure of Extractive Life First Pylon The Last of the Nuba Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind Harold Bloom The Americans.” I recognized these as many of the unread books on my bookshelf. The rest of the poem was as direct a reading as possible of the text a diary entry (analog) from years ago where I detailed my plan to repair my finances while I was living on my car. It made little sense- I remember making this entry while on methamphetamine, and the resulting plan was not particularly sound. I stayed in my car for a few months after that.
The poet ended her reading with an acknowledgement that the reading was occurring on stolen Lanape land.
The poem got some mild applause. I think it would have been better received if the reader hadn’t been amplified so much.
At this time, Cuomo was responding to Mamdani’s accusation that he had pursued his employee’s private gynecological records with an accusation that Zohran was from Uganda.