1. The Queen of the Night. The "rocky place dotted with trees" ranging behind
the Queen of the Night's temple is the Palisades along the Hudson River. Her
"round temple" is the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial, which looms remote and
cold on Riverside Drive. The monument resembles the mountain out of which
the Queen appears in the desolate first scene. At night, the shadows of trees
shift against somber masonry and magnify the recalcitrance of the fortress.
Baleful and hermetic, it is inaccessible, like the Queen, stressed by a rondelle
of Corinthian columns that implies other Queen-of-the-Night traits - rage
and energy. In Masonic symbolism, Corinthian columns stand for exuberance
and action, qualities vocalized in the Queen's sparking arias.
~

2. Sarastro's Egyptian Room. The scene changes to
a sumptuous Egyptian room; here, the Temple of Dendur at the
Metropolitan Museum of Art. Thick, ancient columns and massive stone
walls are incised with hieroglyphs that depict the words "magic," "flute,"
and "singing men and women."

~

Sarastro's Egyptian Room, Interior, with Egyptian and Masonic
iconography: pyramids and sphinxes, a bust of Mozart, etc.
~

3. The Temple of Wisdom has triple entrances and a
Corinthian colonnade: so does the New York Public Library on 42nd Street.
In the miniature, each door is flanked by a pair of globes: red ("Stand Back!")
for the doors marked Reason and Nature; green for the door that opens to
Wisdom. The spheres are like the ones at subway entrances, color-coded
to indicate access to stations. Miniature Egyptian figures replace the Roman
statues on the pediment. This is Sarastros' realm: his attribute is the lion
(leadership, nobility, prowess, loyalty); we first see him in a chariot drawn
by six lions. The NYPL Lions (here changed to Sphinxes) actually have names -
Patience and Fortitude - Masonic qualities emphasized in Die Zauberflote
as prerequisites for initiation.

~

4. A Palm Grove is modeled after the Wintergarden
at the World Financial Center. Its royal palms have gold fronds and silver
trunks. The "Thrones of fronds" are the curving green benches in the
glassed-in space. The marble floor imitates the Wintergarden's white,
gray and rose patterns, with additional borders of black-and-white tile
to mirror Masonic symbolism.

~

5. In Monostatos and Pamina, the Moor threatens
Pamina asleep in a rose bower - in Central Park's Conservatory Garden.
A full moon - emblem of Pamina's mother, the Queen of the Night -
hovers above a dusky and priapic obelisk (symbolic of Monostatos), a
miniature version of the monument in Central Park.

~

6. The Flying Machine. A banquet table (in most
full-size productions, merely a picnic basket) springs up from under
the stage floor. This scene occurs beneath a miniature rendering of
the 59th Street Bridge. The table is laden with street food beloved of
New Yorkers. The Flying Machine is the Roosevelt Island Tram (which
really is a flying machine). According to the libretto, it is laden with
roses, punning with Roosevelt (Rose-Velt, or "world of roses" in Dutch).
Roses, the Masonic symbol of purity, are the province and vehicle of
the three young spirits who guide Tamino on his journey.

~

7. The Sound of the Flute beckons wild animals
from the woods. This scene is set in Ft. Tryon Park, the only virgin
forest left in New York City.
~

8. The Cabinet of Reflection is in the basement
of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where fantastic and ancient
artifacts are stored, many of them Egyptian.

~

9. The Vault Beneath the Pyramid is a lower subway
tunnel, with "lanterns" of glass. (The pyramids are hollow; their illumination
comes from bulbs installed beneath the stage floor).

~

10. Trial by Fire and Water occurs beneath a grotto-like embankment
on the West Side Highway. The two knights are arranged like the
drawing in the original mise-en-scene by Schikanader.

~

11. Papageno's Nest. St. Paul's chapel, in
Lower Manhattan, was built in 1766, when Mozart was 10.
George Washington, whose box is still here, was also a Mason;
he stopped attending services in the significant year 1791. Among
the documents about 18th-century New York here is a little sketch
of the first synagogue in the city, built in 1729. The rustic cottage
seems a comely setting for the Papageno brood. Beyond the panpipe
fenceposts in the miniature, odd little birdhouses festoon trees with
feathers instead of leaves.

~

12. Sarastros' Sun, filling the stage at the finale,
plays homage to the sunburst chandelier at the Metropolitan Opera House.
The chandelier, made of Austrian crystals (as is this miniature version), was
a gift to New York City from Mozart's homeland. It has come to represent
all operas.

~

(2) Leaping to conclusions, I mistook a bird for a kite. But it was a kite. So I mistook a kite for a bird.

~
When: May 12
Where: Washington Square North
Who: Teenage boy and girl
Attitude: Delighted
Quote: “Incinerated bodies…”
~
When: May 12
Where: Washington Square North
Who: Young black man to friend
Attitude: neutral
Quote: “Hard and soft and smooth.”
~
When: May 14
Where: Sixth Ave. & 8th St.
Who: Man, late 20s, on cell
Attitude: Annoyed
Quote: “I come up with the good ideas, and then you flip them.”
~
When: May 15
Where: Tribeca
Who: Guy to girl
Attitude: Incredulous
Quote: “They had a wishing well but nothing was in it.”

_____________________________
Notes on Bike Gestures (1972)

A riot of bicycles chained to a Victorian fence,
tangled together in the complex of their simple forms,
brotherhood of brake wires, gears and chains,
slim and raw.

Bicycles like skeletons possess sex appeal
especially male bikes whose bracing bars
effect sensation in the female human spine,
the cartilage and chain.

Bicycle haunches, wheels narrow as hoops,
and the tic-tic of their voices in motion
are the essence of sensuality, of rhythm,
pulse and nerve.

Bicycles as basketball heroes mimic the shrug
of an arm thrust, undercurving handles like shoulders—
and as runners in the field, they too possess
tough butts.

Female bikes mirror the gangling pelvic
female line, straight-armed, with flat
bi-circles for breasts; they boast grace,
leanness, weightlessness, even a black triangle,
a pubic seat.

Female bicycles are Verushkas, Carringtons,
Jordan Bakers, and those women whose
sensual bearing is opposite as possible
from the lineless corpulence of, say,
Victorian whores.

At Housing Works Bookstore Cafe, on the Spirituality shelf,
the following titles lean together companionably:

The Te of Piglet
The Tao of Pooh
The Zen of Eating
The Jew in the Lotus
The Essence of Buddhism
The Idea of the Holy
The Power of Now
Sit Down and Shut Up

In the bike lane selvage I sprint east across Prince against the wind, the traffic, and the increasing and increasingly madding crowds. I turn north on Crosby, jog almost to Houston and enter an old warehouse whose double doors open like musty pages. It’s Housing Works' first-weekend-of-the-month, thirty-percent-off book sale.

Among the dollar books, which today are sixty-seven cents, I find a decrepit copy of The Portrait of a Lady. I have two copies already, but decide to buy this one for its introduction by Leon Edel. I figure I can rip it out and toss the rest. I’m perpetually paring down (down with pairs!), and dislike accumulations or redundancy of most kinds, except for the pairs of cats and dogs who further enhance the likeness of my listing, leaky, spare and shipshape flat to an ark.
Once in some rest room on the road I saw a sign taped to the paper-towel dispenser: "Why take two when one will do?" -- an adage I've revisited all my life. Thoreau had three chairs, "one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society." Any more chairs would be excessive; as he says, "Furniture! Thank God, I can sit and I can stand without the aid of a furniture warehouse." I have stools that can be sat on or stepped on to reach high shelves; one object with duplicate functions is better than duplicate objects of the same function. (Melville [or Ishmael] pegged most people as "unnecessary duplicates,” a charge I agree with, hoping I'm not one myself.)
.
This battered edition of The Portrait bears no ex libris on its endpapers—maybe the reader wasn't acquisitive, or never loaned possessions and had no need to autograph them. I gently riffle through the pages. Out falls a bookmark: a yellowed business card in Gothic print, with an obsolete exchange (“Chelsea 3”). The pages are well underlined and annotated. Curious, I peruse the marked passages and the meticulous marginalia, much of it familiar. "Isabel as America"--I noted that here and there too. Where Miss Archer says: “I shall never make any one a martyr,” the reader wryly jotted “except yourself”; my annotation of that line, felt with no less a pang, merely intones “IRONY.”
Evidence of someone else's finely-stitched absorption makes me take home the wrecked book intact. I park it between the other two copies, with their different introductions, footnotes and end notes; and their unique personal embellishments, including the odd old bookmarks they came with, which remind me somehow of pressed flowers. The editions seem to form a strange camaraderie of appreciation, and confer in an ironic, mutually exclusive way: a kind of book club just for books. The one copy is for solitude; the second for company; the third for a book club. Come to think of it, I have duplicates and triplicates of other titles I couldn't resist stowing like shipboard commodities, enough to last the lifelong voyage. Meanwhile, I know people getting their reading now on Kindle. No eccentric bookmarks required.

Seen: The night of the superbowl, a policeman coaxed his horse (looked like Cannon) up onto the sidewalk to peer into Puffy's Bar, on Harrison St., to watch the televised game through the big picture window.
*
When: 12/8
Where: subway
Who: group of young people
Attitude: ?
Quote: "He was busted doing drugs in the basement while bookkeeping."
*
When: 12/28/08
Where: South Cove esplanade
Who: Two male runners
Attitude: Neutral
Quote: "This is what I'm bemoaning."
*
When: 1/12/09
Where: Greenwich Street
Who: Mother to young child
Attitude: Patronizing (matronizing?)
Quote: "Cereal and orange juice, mmmm!"
*

When: 1/27/09
Where: subway
Who: Group of 20-somethings
Attitude: Loud
Quote (guy): "I still have my mother's frozen sauce in the freezer."
*
When: 2/2/09, 11:20 AM
Where: West Fourth Street
Who: Girl on cell
Attitude: ?
Quote: "If they would have [mumble] they'd have found the body sooner."
*
When: 2/2/09
Where: West Third Street
Who: Guy on cell
Attitude: weary
Quote: "We walked from the hotel on 44th Street all the way down to Ground Zero almost."

-- and hang my backpack on an ornate iron hook. Low bead-board ceilings; on the two-toned walls (chair rail divides oyster-white from shark-gray) are maritime artifacts: inchoate 19th-c. ship paintings and prints, a single oar, brass portholes, nautical signs. The Christmas décor is a white scribble of minuscule lights athwart the ceiling.
.

.

1/19/09: It is snowing big flat flakes like Queen Anne’s Lace, which makes the short walk up Greenwich Street seem otherworldly. At the Ear, the dining room again is empty though the bar is filling. This inauguration eve, the decor consists of clusters of flag-colored balloons. It is easy to imagine the electric candles as real flames. I look through the pictorial guide of the Ear Inn. At the front is a reproduction of “Washington Crossing the Delaware” (1854). The black man in the boat may or may not be James Brown “as most records of free Afro-Americans have been lost.”

On the eve of this unprecedented presidency, that is something to think about.
.

Snowfall On Canal

Sunday morning, around 9, the temperature rose to a balmy 27. The dogs and I went to the river to see what we could see. There were, on the Hudson, a series of transient grisaille abstractions between piers.

We could see the plane resting on its barge, having been lifted from the river late last night.

Covered in ice and snow, its windows and doors masked by rime, it loomed all wrong just at the esplanade. It was like coming upon a dead whale on a beach. With its monstrous, Melvillean whiteness it was a "gigantic ghostliness"; a flying machine reduced to a "shrouded phantom of the whitened waters..." Luckily it had disgorged all 155 Jonahs to safety.

<>

And a new member of the pack, The Cat Who Came for New Year's. His name is Oakley; and for short, Oak and Oakie; for long, Okeechobee: