Sometimes when my eyes are red
I go up on top of the RCA Building
and gaze at my world, Manhattan—
my buildings, streets I’ve done feats in,
lofts, beds, coldwater flats
—on Fifth Ave below which I also bear in mind,
its ant cars, little yellow taxis, men
walking the size of specks of wool—
Panorama of the bridges, sunrise over Brooklyn machine,
sun go down over New Jersey where I was born
& Paterson where I played with ants—
my later loves on 15th Street,
my greater loves of Lower East Side,
my once fabulous amours in the Bronx
faraway—
paths crossing in these hidden streets,
my history summed up, my absences
and ecstasies in Harlem—
—sun shining down on all I own
in one eyeblink to the horizon
in my last eternity—
matter is water.
Sad,
I take the elevator and go
down, pondering,
and walk on the pavements staring into all man’s
plateglass, faces,
questioning after who loves,
and stop, bemused
in front of an automobile shopwindow
standing lost in calm thought,
traffic moving up & down 5th Avenue blocks behind me
waiting for a moment when ...
Time to go home & cook supper & listen to
the romantic war news on the radio
... all movement stops
& I walk in the timeless sadness of existence,
tenderness flowing thru the buildings,
my fingertips touching reality’s face,
my own face streaked with tears in the mirror
of some window—at dusk—
where I have no desire—
for bonbons—or to own the dresses or Japanese
lampshades of intellection—
Confused by the spectacle around me,
Man struggling up the street
with packages, newspapers,
ties, beautiful suits
toward his desire
Man, woman, streaming over the pavements
red lights clocking hurried watches &
movements at the curb—
And all these streets leading
so crosswise, honking, lengthily,
by avenues
stalked by high buildings or crusted into slums
thru such halting traffic
screaming cars and engines
so painfully to this
countryside, this graveyard
this stillness
on deathbed or mountain
once seen
never regained or desired
in the mind to come
where all Manhattan that I’ve seen must disappear.
--ALLEN GINSBERG
Richards has built a compelling presence in the NYC improvised and experimental scenes, working with masters of the 20th
century, from pioneers Anthony Braxton and Henry Threadgill to cutting edge improvisors Jason Moran and Deerhoof artist Greg Saunier and from Yoko Ono to Kanye West. Her works have premiered at Carnegie Hall, the Blue-note and Lincoln Center. She is a Yamaha Performing Artist....more
supported by 30 fans who also own “Brooklyn Machine”
Mary Halvorson is a genius composer and guitarist who has developed her own musical language, and with Code Girl she has incorporated poetry into that language. Incredible compositions and lyricism (each track is a different kind of poem). Halvorson's playing is as great as usual, and all the other members of the band sound great. Robert Wyatt's singing in particular works extremely well in the tracks he's featured. Highly, highly recommend. rat
When two longtime improv jazz collaborators meet these powerful peers from another city, the result is alchemical magic. Bandcamp Album of the Day Feb 23, 2017
Trumpeter Russ Johnson & some of Chicago's top improvisers slink from contemplative to funky, difficult to swingin'. Bandcamp New & Notable May 6, 2014
supported by 28 fans who also own “Brooklyn Machine”
This music has everything I need: acoustic instruments, a slow build, layers of atypical harmonies and rhythms being added each pass through, subtle melodies and combinations. Excellent work! Little James