Living in coronavirusworld 55: Global as the coronavirusworld we are still living in.

5/16

Bird watching on 105th 

Another day slow getting under way.  I finally convince a good friend of mine to meet me outdoors.  He has been uncharacteristically prudent  in his approach to the virus. Some of this may relate to the fact that he still has relatives in Italy which was the worst hit of European countries and  seemingly least prepared until the US bungled its way through the runup to and opening weeks of the crisis. Earlier in the day, he had alerted me to a Bruce Springsteen concert, Western  Stars, on HBO.   While waiting for my friend, I stop to admire the Double -Crested Cormorant, one of Nicholas Holiber’s sculpture installation, Birds on Broadway.  

Wearing our masks, we walk down through  Riverside Park. He wants to go north since south has too many people walking, running, skating, biking, too close to each other and too close to him. We ‘re between the street and promenade level. There’s a particular bench he is looking for. But it is already occupied. So  we find a moss covered fallen  tree and sit down.  In this pandemic, he has rehabbed an old sewing machine and learned to sew.

He learned to sew

Making masks for he and his wife. And repurposed some old pillow cases and made some curtains. We are all learning new skills like marooned sailors washed up on a desert isle. So many artists have become mask makers. Masks have become totemic objects never imagined in the life that was before.   Another reminder of what the describes as the truly apocalyptic nature of what we are experiencing. We do our best to fill each day with  meaningful activity, we stay busy, but underneath is a growing awareness that as each day passes, things will never be the same  again. What they will be, we do not know. But what was is gone.  Not sure how widely that is understood yet, but somehow I feel we know.  And that  intuited knowing must fuel. some of the less rational protests against life saving social measures. The older black man outside of the liquors store loudly proclaiming to the security guard, I ain’t wearing no mothrfuckin’ mask. Even when African-Americans fall at twice the white rate.  And the armed insurrectionists in Michigan.  They  know. Like all of a sudden you realize this is not a dystopian science fiction movie, this is your life, our life.

He struggles with his poetry, I had an early burst of songs, but my lack of production has kept me away from the writer’s group song exchange. I keep finding excuses. There’s this odd disconnect between the comforting warmth of the sunny full spring day and the hostile unseen deadly presence in our midst.  At one point in our conversation, I feel I could slip off this tree, lie down in the grass, lie down in the warm sunlight glancing through the trees and just stay there until all this is done. Just stay there.  He has brought two flight size mini bottles of bourbon, some cups and ice. We toast, raise our masks and drink. How we took for granted those afternoons at St.James Gate. For now, this will have to do.

Mask by Mili

We walk back, he to join his wife, me home to spaghetti and a glass of red wine from Chile.

                                                 The Official Barbershop Chronicles

The day ends with The National Theatre of England and their production of The Official Barbershop Chronicles by Inua Ellums. I’m fully aware of the cultural institution of the barbershop in the African-American community. Where news is spread, problems resolved and stories told. What I didn’t know was the similar role in African culture The play takes place in 8 different locations including Zimbabwe, South Africa, Ghana, Nigeria….London…All in the context of a football  match between Chelsea and Barcelona on the TV in all the shops. We get insight into how older men stayed loyal and appreciative of Mugabe even as a younger generation went into exile. And how far from a just society South Africa continues to be, even to the heretical scornful critiques of Mandela. The  connection between the show and the shops in my Harlem neighborhood yet another sign of the global world  we live in.  Global  as the coronavirusworld we are still living in.