read a good poem: muse

MUSE
after reading Rilke

No angel speaks to me.
And though the wind
plucks the dry leaves
as if they were so many notes
of music, I can hear no words.

Still, I listen. I search
the feathery shapes of clouds
hoping to find the curve of a wing.
And sometimes, when the static
of the world clears just for a moment

a small voice comes through,
chastening. Music
is its own language, it says.
Along the indifferent corridors
of space, angels could be hiding.

--Linda Pastan via washingtonart.com

midtown nyc, june 7 2012

all photos © anita aguilar

the good-bye, for now: bill's gay nineties

a sad sigh was heard--and tweeted--around town last week, when it was confirmed that one of new york's original speakeasy's, bill's gay nineties bar, was set to close.

i'd been there only once a couple of years ago, on a tour with the architectural historian, francis morrone. the highlight for me came when i stole away from the group (as they waited for their cocktails on the second floor) and slipped into the bar on the first floor. it twinkled from the mix of novelty lights and amber overhead lamps, but it was mostly dim. a nice spot to hide for a while. it was a little crowded, with the business casual/happy hour crew. elliot paul, smiled from behind the piano. i would have liked time to sit and try figure what kind of place it really was; i was on a tour after all and wondered how much of the clientele were people like me who stopped by to soak in a little of its history as a "retro-retro" bar (a 1920s bar with an 1890s theme), how many had come to know it merely as "the bar around the corner from the office," how many had been going there for years. but there wouldn't be enough time that day.

on my way back upstairs to reconvene with everyone, i met aldo leone. he diverted me from my plan and the rest, and walked me around the bar for the next several minutes, charming me with stories from his life, before and since bill's. he told me about his years at mama leone's restaurant, palling around with frank sinatra who he knew before he became "frank sinatra," (they stayed friends), and his many acquaintances in the boxing world. he would interrupt himself from time to time, to stop to shake hands or wave to people that came and left, but would pick up again with me with the same smile, the same shine in his eyes. he was sweet, really. i had the feeling he must be one of the reasons people become regulars at bill's.

i had meant to return for more stories --and a burger and a coke-- but didn't.

you and i will have until march 24th to make it back again to say hello and good-bye (for now. bill's is likely to reopen at another location). it will be worth it, to make the time to see it where it first and many thought would "always" live. if you're lucky, aldo will be there that day, too.

***

bill's gay nineties is at 57 east 54th street new york, ny (between park and madison avenues)

here are the hours:
lunch: mon-fri. 11:30am -5:00pm
dinner: mon-sat. 5:00pm - 11:30pm

saturday
dinner: from 500pm- 11:00pm

the piano bar stays open til 1-1:30am.

***

aldo, giving me the scoop on who's who...

the 2nd floor dining room

ziegfield girls

mr. paul, at the keys...

aldo, with chris doherty

oh say can you see...

the humanity?

i've been excited to see jones beach for the first time (as an adult) after i read that it's listed on the national register of historic places. but i can't say i wasn't a little afraid that it was going to be a bit too full and too spirited on the 4th of july.

and it was crowded, but not impossible to find spot for an umbrella and a big towel. and the beach soundtrack was right for the occasion--waves, wind, laughter and a little bit of whatever latin/r & b the new york masses are listening to now-- at a level that allowed for some good reading...but mostly, good napping.

the water was c-c-c-cold, but invigorating in brief forays.

love boricua beach style: matching fishnet tops

this was really the only shot i tried to take of the architectural features. the water tower is under construction, people were lined up against the boardwalk railings...and mary and i had quite a but of stuff between us, including a cooler the size of my bathtub... i'll save the real picture-taking for the off-season.

read a good poem: new york

new york, madame,

is a monument to a city

it is

TA-DA

a gigantic pike

whose scales

bristled up stunned

and what used to be just smoke

found a fire that gave it birth

champagne foam

melted into metal

glass rivers

flowing upwards

and things you won't tell to a priest

you reveal to a cabdriver

even time is sold out

when to the public's "wow" and "shhh"

out of a black top hat

a tailed magician

is pulling new york out

by the ears of skyscrapers

- vakzhyna mort (translated by franz wright and elizabeth oehlkers wright)

via the poetryfoundation.org

***
***

photos © anita aguilar