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    Concrete Pastures of the Beautiful Bronx
    Concrete Pastures of the Beautiful Bronx
    Concrete Pastures of the Beautiful Bronx
    Ebook96 pages39 minutes

    Concrete Pastures of the Beautiful Bronx

    By W.R. Rodriguez

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    About this ebook

    W R Rodriguez explores the beauty, wonder, and harsh reality of the urban environment. He has a strong poetic voice that uses irony and humor. He treats his subjects in a variety of styles: narratives, lyrics, long poems, and prose poems. Vivid and abundant imagery abound; the reader will get a sense of being there. In “my little red fire engine” he expands on the memory of childhood play to the observation of a tenement fire. The prose poem “democracy” tells the story of an ethnic fire cracker war on the Fourth of July. The long poem “roosevelt’s bust” gives a synopsis of Bronx history over four decades, from the Depression to the Kennedy assassination. The “saint mary’s park” sequence begins with his playing in the park and ends with a nostalgic look at his mother in her youth. His vision is unique; it transcends the stereotype many have about those who write about the inner city.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherW.R. Rodriguez
    Release dateNov 5, 2014
    ISBN9781310352171
    Concrete Pastures of the Beautiful Bronx
    Author

    W.R. Rodriguez

    W.R. Rodriguez grew up in the Bronx where he worked as a bootblack in the family shoe shine parlor. He moved to Madison where he earned an M.A. in English and taught high school for over thirty years. The urban environment has been a major source of his writing: “Although I left The Bronx decades ago, it has not left me. To give ironic tribute to the Romantics, I regard the streets and tenements as worthy subjects of art. I enjoy creating poetry from my memories of people, places, and events, as well as from research and imagination. Also, I want my poems to work on the page and to have a strong voice if read aloud.”His poetry has appeared in magazines such as Abraxas and Epoch, and in anthologies such as The Party Train, Welcome to Your Life, and Editor’s Choice III. Articles about his family’s experience in The Bronx were published in The Bronx County Historical Society Journal.W.R. Rodriguez is the author of several books of poetry. His latest, from the banks of brook avenue, is an evolution of the work he began in the shoe shine parlor poems et al and developed in concrete pastures of the beautiful bronx.

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      Book preview

      Concrete Pastures of the Beautiful Bronx - W.R. Rodriguez

      I

      the bootblack

      the bootblack

      neither

      creates the shoe

      nor kills the cow

      has no theories

      but the preservation

      of leather

      and the soul’s thin hide

      burnishes a small

      part of the world

      pounding wonder

      from the mundane

      clodhoppers

      loafers

      wing tips

      combat boots

      the legendary

      puerto rican fence climbers

      pumps and

      police brogues

      reality is unique

      as a world worn foot

      these walking streets

      are beautiful

      my little red fire engine

      my little red fire engine

      i sit i steer i pedal

      toward imaginary disasters

      as though i were important

      but today no kids are out

      to save from the flames

      too hot this august morning

      for many emergencies

      this holy day of obligation

      at early mass the stone walls

      of saint luke’s church

      chill the bronx heat

      señoras in black dresses

      finger rosaries

      the last irish knights of columbus

      guard lonely pews

      priestly latin drifts

      through the morning peace

      firemen beside the holy water

      on the threshold are ready

      to scramble but the alarm

      does not ring

      the offertory bells

      startle all to salvation

      hook and ladder 29

      just across the street

      its art nouveau facade

      wondrous to a young boy

      searching for heroes

      and glory

      engines shiny

      freshblood red behind

      a trinity of corniced arches

      prepared to rescue all

      from mortal infernos

      nothing burns

      devotional candles melt with prayer

      the priest’s homily

      is in the vernacular

      heaven is heaven and hell is hell

      earth is the mystery to me

      o for the paradise years

      before riots and assassinations

      and the arson that burns

      through the safety of sleep

      brickbats bottles the rage of the mob

      greet the saviors

      so many willing to throw stones

      at so few

      before despair there is hope

      which flickers away

      save the apartments we desperately need

      the building beside the church

      is torched one winter night

      the top two floors lost

      before the ladder is raised

      five stories overhead the lone fireman

      directs the hose

      he is a silver angel

      in the white spotlight

      the orange flames

      the black sky

      the brown smoke

      it is all just another insurance payout

      a cheap eviction of unwanted tenants

      this is the incense

      of the church of the bronx

      charred tenement skeletons

      stand like sentinels of death

      acres of crumbled brick and broken glass

      fill for years with garbage

      weeds grow amidst the rot

      faint promise of a green life

      the trash is set ablaze

      these are the prairies of the slums

      where wild dogs scavenge

      and there is wailing

      and gnashing of teeth

      we make our offerings

      and we eat the divine

      we are blessed and are sent

      into the stark sunlight

      of bronx streets

      at the bakery the cinnamon buns

      are still warm

      mother perks the coffee

      and sends me out to play

      in my shiny red

      little fire engine

      and i roar up and down

      but the arsonists are sleeping

      and there is no one to save

      sledgehammer man

      i need a couple bucks he says

      sleeveless white tee shirt

      skinny muscles

      that sledgehammer props him up

      that sledgehammer says maybe he’ll bust up the place

      his friend smiling like something nice gonna happen

      he’s scowling

      i need a couple bucks

      and i don’t know what to say

      i just see that sledgehammer

      i need a couple bucks

      and uncle

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