September 29th

Tomorrow is my last day at the Met.  I will return there and write, I may even post those poems but I will never again visit the Met on a daily basis. As thrilled as I am to have some more free time and less of a commute I must say this saddens me. This experiment has been successful and far more enjoyable then I expected, due in part to creative blessings, the Met itself, and the many lovely guest writers.

Today I went to the Japanese portion of the Asian wing. It was quiet, peaceful, and empty.

Five Miles to the Nearest Town

It was not a devastation
for us. No hammock vanishing husband,
or mid lake misplacement of our sons.
The house, bricks interconnected
and standing, three stories tall.

Of course we lost the stars,
but we had this luxury of space,
of still surrounding ourselves with my grandmothers
books and his fathers hunting riffles.

At first the boys left only for a day
up river, some camping trips,
normal for their age, this wild country.

Then it was weeks and they'd come
home uncomfortable in clothes,
barefoot, dark, pleased by grime.

Now, I sometimes hear footsteps
on the floor above me, wish it to be them,
but I see only the clothes, the book's,
a quilt they left behind, a year ago now.

Factors
Day of the Week: Wednesday
Occupancy of the Museum: Moderately busy
Arrived at: 12:30
Departed at: 1:45
Read on Commute: Rouges Gallery by Michael Gross, which is an unauthorized, controversial book on the history of the Met. So far I am not impressed.

September 26

I met Lane Falcon a dear friend and Sarah Lawrence poet at the steps today. Tom Lux once said that Lane Falcon is the perfect name for a poet, and who am I to disagree?

We had a lovely time wandering. Lane touched a sarcophagus and the guard was nice about it. We ended up in the Modern Art section, which was not too busy today, but I still somehow found it hard to write.

We Lift

all these words to you

and still are left

wanting more seeds,

more rosemary, more cadmium.

The garden grows zucchini
into a jungle for squirrels,
and I keep finding dirt clad children

digging for potatoes.

We need squash for soup,

for a winter of prayer, 

of waiting. For others. 

For order? The return of you?

  
Factors
Day of the Week: Sunday
Occupancy of the Museum: Busy
Arrived at: 2:30
Departed at: 4:00
Read on Commute:  Cider House Rules by John Irving, and Made to Stick by Chip and Dan Heath

September 25th

Today I met the Jessica Ankeny on the steps of the Met. She is a charming poet and a Sarah Lawrence student.

She is also a frequent Met visitor and so we discussed various locations as we wandered.  She initially wanted to write in the Medieval Weapons section but unfortunately it lacked benches. However we found our way to the rather peaceful Musical Instruments section which is currently home to a gold drum owned by Ringo Starr. The range of international instruments found in this section is extraordinary.

The Mistress of Vanishing

I've always kept a key
beneath my tongue,
a lock pick
spit glued to foot.
My hair contains faint
traces of cyanide.

I traveled north
after the flood,
no Cathedral spires
remained, just lonely
office buildings.

I left for the memory of cities,
Seattle, Tacoma, Vancouver.
Surely there would be no
blue uniformed guards sitting
in booths at the border?
Though now I find even
the thought reassuring.

Factors
Day of the Week: Saturday
Occupancy of the Museum: Very Busy
Arrived at: 5:00
Departed at: 7:20
Read on Commute:  Cider House Rules by John Irving (slow going today).

September 17th

My guest writer today was the lovely Jean Hartig, who had been for a run around the storm stricken Prospect Park before meeting me on the way to the subway. It was nice to have someone to share the commute with, due to the storm the commute was considerably longer today then it normally is. All the trains were running late.

Jean chose the American Wing and it was very nice to be back there. Even though there is something cold and formal about the room I enjoy writing there because of the light.





Edited to Remove Poem: An edited version of this poem has since been published.






Factors
Day of the Week: Friday
Occupancy of Museum: Empty
Arrived at: 9:45
Departed at: 11:00
Read on Commute: On the way there I talked and on the return trip I read a little more of Provenance by Laney Salisbury and Aly Sujo.

September 15th

Today is the official halfway point of the project. I have a better knowledge of the museum, a developing sense of time in terms of language, and an appreciation of and disdain for the commute. Hopefully everything but my disdain for the commute will continue to evolve nicely over the next fifteen days. I am keeping notes about the whole process and will start to organize and publish them after the project is over.


I had technical difficulties today, which is to say that I left my notebook at home. I only had a half covered sheet of paper in my purse, but I made do. When I showed the wrinkled page to Jacob afterwords he said "It goes to show you don't need to have a lot to be a writer, as bathroom stalls around the country have proven."

The weather was wonderful today, a perfect New York Fall day, so I wanted a room with a lot of light. The Met, unlike most museums, actually has a lot of rooms that fit that description. It was still early in the morning so I headed to the American Wing. It was wonderfully empty and nice. The problem that I often have with the American Wing is that the cafeteria running along the left hand side is a little incongruous with the rest of the room, and often the source of a lot of noise. However in the mornings it is entirely empty, which makes it the ideal time to visit the American Wing.



The Metropolitan Museum Alone

Central Park invaded,
glass walls such a temptation.
In a windstorm, the first tree
crashed into the European Sculpture
Court, a large Elm.

The floor already cracked, earth
visible. All those tremors running
on the New York fault line.

Elm seedlings with roots in
time split marble on their own.

Trees and statues cohabiting,
branches invading the photo
gallery above, piercing works,
dusty in the Special Exhibition rooms.

Factors
Day of the Week: Wednesday
Occupancy of Museum: Presently empty
Arrived at: 9:45
Departed at: 10:45
Read on Commute: I read and finished Field Notes from A Catastrophe by Elizabeth Kolbert. The book based on a series of articles first printed in The New Yorker. It is an interesting study of climate change, but I had hoped it would give me some apocalyptic inspiration much like The World Without Us had. Unfortunately it did not.

September 13th

Today I started my second notebook of the project, having filled the first one yesterday. I was surprised by how many people were around. Most planning to go into the museum, and were surprised it was closed. There where also some maintenance workers on break and a tourist group looking for a photo opportunity.

I was surprised that the door on the right was left open for a guard to let employees in (I just assumed that those who worked Monday entered through the more discreet doors on the lower level). It also made it possible for tourists to at least glance into the grand entryway.

I started out trying to write on the steps but it was too sunny and a little uncomfortable so I moved to the shaded benches that run along the right side of the front of the museum. It was shady and quiet. Very pleasant.




Countdown Tango

We've got a dance
one card over,
and the dry ice
in the fridge,
Leonard Cohen
on the jukebox.
Plenty of time
to kill, I kid.

The buildings keep
collapsing, the sun don't
shine the same.
Rythm's all I remember,
isn't that a shame?

Drink one glass
then another.
Step left, right
and back. We will
play a happy ditty,
guns behind our backs.



Factors
Day of the Week: Monday
Occupancy of Museum: Empty (presumably).
Arrived at: !0:00
Departed at: 11:00
Read on Commute: The Black Dahlia by James Elroy
Weather: Crisp with a side of sunshine.

September 8th

Today is the first day of week two, which in and of itself is rather exciting. I feel as if my approach to writing has already been altered, although perhaps only temporarily.

The lovely Jeanne Alnot, a dear friend and fellow SLC graduate from the Non Fiction program joined me. Jeanne's piece will be up later this week. She led the way in search of Titian, but we ended up writing in Gallery Ten: Batoni, Giaquinto, Panini.

While we were there some sort of construction began in the room next door, so they moved equipment through and I enjoyed the contrast of the refined quiet rooms and the loud bulky machinery.






(Poem removed due to publication elsewhere)



Factors
Day of the Week: Wednesday
Occupancy of Museum: light traffic.
Arrived at: 10:00
Departed at: 11:30
Read on Commute: Thunderstuck, Eric Larson

September, 6th

Today was Labor Day, and like most holiday Mondays the Met was open, instead of being closed like it normally is.

I headed in the direction of the Monets, feeling as if I needed some impressionism in my life. I wrote in several different rooms today but stayed within the Annenberg Collection.



The above painting by Monet, The Bodman Oak, Fotainebeau Forest, 1865 caught my eye, so I read the blurb which began ordinarily but ended with this "The slash in the upper right hand corner may have been made by Monet, who reputedly mutilated some canvases in order to discourage a landlord from seizing them in 1866". I looked long and hard for the slash which I couldn't see.

One young girl, carried by her grandfather, expressed loudly in front of Monet's Water Lillies that she would "Like that one at home".

In the gallery where I wrote the poem posted below, a young woman in a pretty dress and a hijab was with an older woman wearing Capri pants, who kept taking pictures of the younger woman. Later that day after leaving my friend's West Village apartment I ran into the younger woman who acknowledged me with a smile before I recognized her.

At Sailors Delight, take Warning

We bear these days of red skies, try to search for clues
realign bodies, the lack of rain stretching out weeks. Long sleeve
shirts, jeans, hats piled on; we strip at night,

reveal bodies brown as peach pits. Nothing keeps
the sun out, still the earth is no warmer than it was.
I chart it nightly. My father searches books
for explanations, combs footnotes for skeleton keys.

In the valley he strings oranges from trees, lights fires
underneath, shifts the oranges axis every day or two,
records the browning spots. My sons burnt
their clothes last week and spend hours blending
into trees, deer hunting. They smile more now,
teeth a shocking white.




Factors
Day of the Week: Holiday Monday
Occupancy of Museum: Bearably busy.
Arrived at: 11:00
Departed at: 12:15
Read on Commute: Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem (I'm almost finished, it keeps getting more and more interesting). I could use new reading recommendations.

September Third

Today I decided to visit one of my favorite parts of the museum, the Sackler Wing, where the Temple of Dendur is.

I remember first seeing The Temple of Dendur at ten, when my parents took my brother and I to New York for the first time. It is the reason I fell in love with the Met. I can remember nothing else of that first visit.

It was interesting writing there, because it is one of the few places in the Museum where visitors spend long periods of time. People stop and sit and talk, watch their children, one man read a book for over an hour while I was there.

The writing came easier today, which was relief.





I apologize. The poem originally here was revised and accepted elsewhere.




Factors
Day of the Week: Friday. The Met is open till 9:00 on Friday's and Saturday's. There is also live classical music from 5:00 on, in the balcony which is nice.
Occupancy of Museum: Busy, but not overwhelmingly so.
Arrived at: 4:05
Departed at: 5:20
Read on Commute: Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem (portions of it involve the Met)