city lights dazzle (homage to lawrence ferlinghetti)
"Every
journal is a confessional. If it’s in the first person, it cannot help
but be. Unless the author of it lies to himself-—and that makes it even
more of a confessional. For some reason, travel brings out confessions
one would never make at home. I am trying to draw the rake of my journal
over the landscape.
Perhaps I will uncover something." ~ Lawrence Ferlinghetti
asking why lawrence believed a travel journal
to be more confessional than a home journal
helps me get closer to the person, the poet
who walked the streets of san francisco
when many of the sidewalks, freshly paved
led down to the bay, the bridge, the desert
holding appeal in allowing those souls
who thirsted for a beach shack, some
time, pens, pencils, a brand new
journal book, virginal and ready, waiting
on the bedside of one small room
sitting upon the vestige of a beach
looking out to nowhere, wistfully
we watch the time, letting our own
curiousness pen poems that would
win the hearts of a whole new spirit
that funky beat carmel crowd, hait ash
peaking through the morning bay mist
city lights being born- the beginning
we can now write without instruction-
the world rolls out before us
as the redwoods would eventually
elevate our vision for more natural-
the scent of redwood staining
our backpacks, spilling on those
ivory virgin pages of our journals
never to be the same afterwards
we were on a mission to be
ourselves in a post world war two
time when anything seemed to be
possible; now with the ratio of women
to men moving towards greater equality
melting into a melange of book stores
rising out of the same granite earth
we celebrate our selves through
city lights erected in the spirit
of lawrence, jack, allen--..
the lovable reckless ships
speeding through the bay
uncovering the rich words
of freedom, bay wind
coursing through faces on fire
with the words that would
eventually be referred to
as benevolent beat
some strange morning
when the sun rose
on the desert side
sipping rose hip tea
with the fluffy sourdough
smiling along with,
not against
the breaking waves,
the new western wind
~words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '15
Perhaps I will uncover something." ~ Lawrence Ferlinghetti
asking why lawrence believed a travel journal
to be more confessional than a home journal
helps me get closer to the person, the poet
who walked the streets of san francisco
when many of the sidewalks, freshly paved
led down to the bay, the bridge, the desert
holding appeal in allowing those souls
who thirsted for a beach shack, some
time, pens, pencils, a brand new
journal book, virginal and ready, waiting
on the bedside of one small room
sitting upon the vestige of a beach
looking out to nowhere, wistfully
we watch the time, letting our own
curiousness pen poems that would
win the hearts of a whole new spirit
that funky beat carmel crowd, hait ash
peaking through the morning bay mist
city lights being born- the beginning
we can now write without instruction-
the world rolls out before us
as the redwoods would eventually
elevate our vision for more natural-
the scent of redwood staining
our backpacks, spilling on those
ivory virgin pages of our journals
never to be the same afterwards
we were on a mission to be
ourselves in a post world war two
time when anything seemed to be
possible; now with the ratio of women
to men moving towards greater equality
melting into a melange of book stores
rising out of the same granite earth
we celebrate our selves through
city lights erected in the spirit
of lawrence, jack, allen--..
the lovable reckless ships
speeding through the bay
uncovering the rich words
of freedom, bay wind
coursing through faces on fire
with the words that would
eventually be referred to
as benevolent beat
some strange morning
when the sun rose
on the desert side
sipping rose hip tea
with the fluffy sourdough
smiling along with,
not against
the breaking waves,
the new western wind
~words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '15
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