read a good poem: april rain song

park ave. april 19, 2010.

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

--langston hughes via the poetry foundation

park ave: after eight...

i didn't think i'd miss missing the christian marclay exhibit when it was at paula cooper, but then a couple of weeks ago i read this zadie smith piece.

now all i can see are clocks.

the clock at 230 park avenue (the helmsley building).

april 19, 2011.

photo © anita aguilar

rainy days and mondays

blooming affairs

925 broadway

march 21, 2011

and in the night...

puddles, park chairs.

bryant park, nyc. sept 27, 2010

splashes, color

today was a dreary, wet one.

but there were a few brights spots, at the market:

all photos © anita aguilar

love...

THIS:

photo of rafael nadal at the 2010 italian open, by andrew medichini/AP via nytimes.com photo replay, may 2, 2010.

nadal defeated his countryman, david ferrer, after two rain delays, two sets, 7-5, 6-2.

THIS: maximum favorite writer reconsiders rafa (a "clay-court special-ist" after all)...

and THIS:

at the italian open, may 2, 2010. photo by pier paolo cito/AP via tennis.com

mad (square) color

april 22, 2010. all photos © anita aguilar

AMO the ARG: sunday reflections

plaza cataluna...

march 20, 2010.

march 20, 2010.

all photos © anita aguilar

AMO the ARG: when it rains and pours

if you were in palermo or recoleta last weekend and you spied a girl in a summer dress and sandals, positively soaked through, skipping between awnings, occasionally stopping to take a photo and wring out the sweater that she was using to shield herself and her camera from a direct downpour, that was me.

there were a few of us out.
they were a little better prepared, with umbrellas.
but maybe i had more fun?

she one upped me with the heels, i think.

this is actually what new york looked like the weekend i left...

all photos © anita aguilar

read a good poem: happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length

though, sometimes you see pretty things in the rain...
caught in the storm, palermo. buenos aires, march 19, 2010.

photo © anita aguilar

Oh, stormy stormy world,
The days you were not swirled
Around with mist and cloud,
Or wrapped as in a shroud,
And the sun's brilliant ball
Was not in part or all
Obscured from mortal view—
Were days so very few
I can but wonder whence
I get the lasting sense
Of so much warmth and light.
If my mistrust is right
It may be altogether
From one day's perfect weather,
When starting clear at dawn,
The day swept clearly on
To finish clear at eve.
I verily believe
My fair impression may
Be all from that one day
No shadow crossed but ours
As through its blazing flowers
We went from house to wood
For change of solitude.
--by Robert Frost, via The Writer's Almanac.

pretty city: the "falls like snow, wears like rain" edition

midday in midtown.
umbrella in one hand, the g10 in the other. (this trick needs work, but...here are a few quick shots. maybe more tomorrow...)

photos © anita aguilar

point and shoot: park ave, post-pacquiao...

rainy park ave. nov 14, 2009.

branches, off the avenue. november 14, 2009.

read a good poem: the way though

before the storm...same time, last year.

my friends have started to complain about all the june rain.

i don't think i'll ever tire of it. i love the before, during, and after a summer storm. fast moving clouds, swirly winds, people scurrying for shelter. me, in my duck boots.


***

the way through (1954)

let the rain plunge radiant
through sulky thunder
rage on rooftops

let it scissor and bounce its denials
on concrete slabs and black
roadways. flood the streets. it's much

but not enough, not yet: persist,
rain, real rain, sensuous,
swift, released from

vague skies, the tedium

up there.

under scared bucking trees

the beach road washed out -

trying to get by on the verge
is no good, earth crumbles into the
brown waterfall, but he backs up

the old car again and CHARGES.

the water flies in the halfwit's eyes

who didn't move fast enough

"who do you think i am, a horse?"

but we made it--

drown us, lose us

rain, let us loose, so,
to lose ourselves, to career
up the plunge of the hill.

--denise levertov
from the new american poetry, 1945-1960

***

favorite line:
trying to get by on the verge
is no good