To Bathe Her in the Stars

He looked up at the sky. From the inside of the boxcar there was a perfect rectangle of inky blue-black speeding by. The stars didn’t move an inch.

The North Star just hovered up there in all its majesty like a stoic king, Ursa Major reached its long math across the sky over Kankakee’s rail yard like a Greek god lining up the perfect three-bank billiard’s shot.

He thought maybe if she bothered to look up at the same time–wherever she was–maybe, just maybe, they’d see the same carpet of light at the same time, and that would be a small something.

Her brown eyes were as deep as space. He’d stare into them, wordlessly, and swear he could see comets racing at the speed of his heart.

Published in: on October 10, 2012 at 1:22 pm  Comments (2)  
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Dark Engine of Ohio

Dark Engine of Ohio

She listened for the murderous engine of the turnpike. . .the dark engine of Ohio.

Published in: on September 27, 2012 at 8:28 am  Leave a Comment  
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Tiger Weeds

Tiger Weeds

In almost all of the hobo lore I’ve read, plants are a prominent theme.  Plants that are edible.  Plants that are poisonous.  Plants that get you high.  Hobos were well-acquainted with ‘shrooms and peyote, as well as many other plants that acted as home-cures for everything from rashes to tooth-aches; aloe and oil of clove.  For stomach disorders hobos often ate dandelion greens, among other herbs.  Plants were the hobo’s best friend. Sadly, many hobos would commit suicide with Jim Pye weed and other poisonous plants.  In many of the texts I’ve read, hobos spent long hours laying in the tall weeds waiting for trains slow enough to hop.  Often times, trains would “cannonball,” meaning they would run at top speed in order to discourage unwanted passengers and train robbers.  Hobos had to be canny and live by their wits in order to read the minds of train engineers coming out of the yards.   Seasoned hobos knew to stay away from the railyards and the “bulls” who guarded them, in order to avoid beatings and jail.  Mostly they would wait in an area outside of the yard with some cover to hide in and hope for a slow-coming train.

Last week my New York show, Big Rock Candy Mountain, opened; the first of three shows about the hobos and the hobo alphabet.  The second show, The Devil’s Handshake, will open in New Orleans at Ammo Gallery in October.  The third and final hobo show, The Ticket to Canaan, will open in January at my home gallery, the mighty Pierogi in Brooklyn, in January.

I had a great time in New York at my show. Dieu Donné could not be better hosts or friends.  The women who work there cooked pies for my opening.  Catherine Cox and Rachel Gladfelter labored a whole weekend making Shoo-fly pies, lemon meringue, blueberry and other pies.  It was lovely of them and I was deeply moved by their generosity.  Nick Floyd and Barnaby Struve drove the especially hand-brewed “Hobo” beer from Chicago to New York.  They are the best.  Though I can no longer drink beer, everyone was happy with their amazing brew.  It was kind of them and I am fortunate to have such great friends.  Jenny Scobel and Ted Utley hosted me and Mike at their beautiful home in Harlem and spoiled us rotten with homemade lasagna and bread and pastries.  They also hosted a gathering for me the night before my opening and my friends were kind enough to come out for it.  It was really lovely.

My opening could not have been more fun.  It was full of so many artists whom I greatly admire; Jane Hammond, Leslie Dill, Rico Gatson, the incomparable Deborah Kass (Mommy, I would love to dance), Fred Tomaselli, Martin Wilner, Eric Doyle, Joe Amrhein, Polly Apfelbaum, Jenny Scobel, Walter Robinson and the great Lou Reed.  It was edifying to be celebrated by people this talented; I am touched and grateful.  Thank you to all of you.

Tony

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