Wandering NYC: LIttle Trees and the Density of Things

An a Capella group

steps over boots and

around heavy coats

to sing doo wop

on the C train, at 34th Street.

The doors open at 42^nd Street,

There are beats of African drums

Coming from the platform,

Which get quieter as the door closes.

A man reading Bible verses

Has gotten on there.

The passengers

keep their heads down

do not speak,

Nor look at him.

At 59^th, I get off.

Peaceful sounds of

Native American flute

Fill the Time Warner Center

I hear it on the escalator

Down to Whole Foods.

It fades away to

Folk pop mix

In the market,

Bob Dylan’s nasal raspy twang

In the background as

As I eat oatmeal

And drink organic coffee

There is less sidewalk                                        

In this season,

 From 59^th to 74^th,

I walk through                                                         

Pop-up forests of

Christmas Trees

Piney scent

Mixes with aromas of roasted nuts,

And Freshly fried Falafel,

A siren cuts through

The after rush hour

Traffic on icy Broadway morning.

The little trees

Draw me in.

No more than three feet high,

These ones that fit in tiny

Spaces in

Manhattan places

Mini forests sit among the Giants

“Hello, little ones”, I think.

“I have had been intimate

With a few of your cousins,”

Back when I lived on E. 85^th Street.

I brought them up to my 6^th floor studio

Barely reaching  window,                                 

Facing south.

Flashing mini- lights, stars

And angels sat on gentle tiny branches

I do not linger,

In those street forests.

Only memories

Linger

I have come to dance,

And so I do

Soft gentle indie

Music,

Piano

And lilting, voice,

for jazz class.

There is sadness in the voice.

Soft slippers and bare feet

Make brushing sounds on

Polished surfaces

But downstairs,

the room filled with tappers

Stomp, slap, and flap

In unison

Metal on wood,

Percussive,

Drumming with our feet

Deep bass guitar

Plays jazz solo,

Our rhythms syncopate

With it

And together we become

the

Music

Then, two flights down

with clomping boots on

ancient steps

Cross the street and                               

back to screeching

Subway.

On the #1 at 72^nd Street

A man with covered standing bass

waits,

then

gets off at 66^th,

Lincoln Center.

I imagine his deep rich sound

As he plays in an orchestra there

or maybe a jazz band.

While I wait at 59^th Street

For the C

I hear, I think, tapping.

Could it be?

Yes, a man

Has set up planks of wood

Where he does cramp roll turns

And maxi fours

With gusto.

At Penn Station,

34th Street

There is soulful blues

And haunting electric guitar

A few notes of each,

Then out to the street,

Where heading west,

The city noises cars, and horns

And underlying din

Begin to wane

By 10^th Ave

There is peace

Peaceful city

How strange

There is stillness

Out here in the western edge

Between 11^th and 12^th,

Almost to the river

Where there is lots of sky

Silence,

While I wait for the bus

To take me home.

Wandering And Dancing, NYC

Yesterday I did a little dancing at Steps on Broadway on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.

 The first time I went there the entrance eluded me. I thought I was going crazy.

With Fairway‘s fruits and vegetables filling up most of the block. it is not surprising.  Marked with 2121, but set back a little, it appears to be a delivery entrance, but it’s not. 

Take the elevator or walk to the third floor and enter Dance Heaven.

Immediately, there is energy, movement, and music.  Dancers in all stages of dress and undress sprawl in  hallways, stretching limbs, waiting for classes to begin or recovering from ones just completed.

I am right at home in the dance studio with its hardwood floors and smooth surfaces,  mirrors, and ballet barres .

Dancing since the age of 8, I have never stopped. Styles, steps, and rhythms have changed, but my love for the dance has deepened over the years.

Less technical, I have become more expressive, sacrificing the big fancy move for the emotion.

With multiple classes on two levels, starting at 10 AM and going into the evening, 7 days a week, there are always too many choices at Steps. On any given day there might be a dozen or more each of tap, and ballet, in addition to various other tempting choices like contemporary, jazz, hip hop, and theater dance.

To maximize my infrequent NYC dance days,  I take two classes back to back. Today it’s  an Advanced Beginner Contemporary Jazz class followed by Advanced Beginner Tap.

Tap is one of my main interests these days. As I kid I took classes, then returned to the dance some years ago when I was a teacher directing and choreographing my school’s production of “42^nd Street.”

Amazingly, 20 years later, it is all coming back to me.

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 The jazz class was decent but uninspiring.  About 3 times as old as many of the students, I was fine in the warm up, which lasted a full hour. The choreography was okay until we started to go down on the floor and that’s when I took my leave to get ready for the tap class, the main event.

I like to be inspired.

With a more diverse population, tap was way more exciting. Gotta give  cudos to the “senior” member of the class, pushing 90, who, wearing her “Keep on Moving” tee shirt, held her own. I want to be her when I’m in my 80’s!!

Inspiring us with great jazz and challenging rhythms, instructor and performer Lynne Schwab sees and hears all mistakes and cares enough to take time to help students improve.

I love a good teacher.

Full of endorphins, I hopped on the subway at 72^nd Street for the first leg of my journey back to the Bolt which brought me home to Philly. While waiting for my next connection at 59th Street, I happen upon this tapper. Sweet!

There is always more dancing!