Thursday, June 4, 2015

From A Poet In Center City ('12)


#19


Bill Rosenblum and I are still working together intermittently. Bill lives in a studio apartment on Twenty-First Street between Chestnut and Market. It’s filthy— Bill lives like a pig. But Bill already has a primitive Pro Tools set-up, which means he can record me cheaply and (somewhat) efficiently. I have a cache of songs I wrote in the spring of ’96— folk songs, in the manner of Nick Drake, for us to record. One thing I have now also is an album on mp3.com, which I can add to. Bill and I maintain our own routine— record, smoke a little pot, repeat. Bill’s infinitely distractible, and I try not to be impatient. He even gets me to watch “Adult Swim” and “Space Ghost,” as I did as a teenager. The album doesn’t do much— I have a difficult time promoting it (having “offed” myself from doing live gigs in Philly). Everything feels liminal to me except Penn— it’s the new centerpiece of my life. College Hall, Van Pelt, Bennett Hall are golden for me; and I covet the armature of an Ivy League education. As I expected, Penn only transferred two years worth of credits from Penn State. Now, in my mid-twenties, I prioritize getting my degree. Christopher, Elizabeth, Bill, and the rest know this is happening— but my life is becoming strictly compartmentalized into bits which don’t always cohere. 





#20


There’s a poetry reading circuit in Center City which I’m now heavily involved in. Other than the old guard and Christopher, some contenders subsist who are nearly my age. D.P. Plunkett is a rising star on this circuit. He happens to be ten years older than me. D.P. is bisexual, obese, and his poetry is all rough edges and dirty jokes. He, like most of the old guard, is a historical naïf where poetry is concerned— he’s read very little pre-1960. He also, as a high-school dropout raised out in the sticks, loathes U of Penn. It seems natural that we take an instant, intense dislike to each other. His sordid history with Elizabeth and Joe ended in rancor on all sides. I spot D.P.’s big weakness— he needs to be buffeted by people (preferably poets) on all sides. D.P. has one major henchman; a bouncer/poet from Southwest Philly named Doug Winter. Whatever social games come to fruition around them are planned by Doug and D.P. together. They run a reading series out of La Tazza 108. I go sometimes with Christopher. Christopher detests them, but there aren’t many reading series in Center City which deliver the “action-quotient” we want, and this is one. We learn fast; there’s no use trying to talk with D.P. or Doug unless you’re part of their in-crowd. Neither of us is prepared to make much of an effort. Through the whole liminal period of the early Aughts, we work around scenes like this and try and establish something worthwhile, both in and out of the accepted Center City circuit. 

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