Archive for Journal

First Saturday

Helicopter, low,

Slinking under folded clouds,

Thumping upriver.

Runner’s orange shirt

Circles beneath pier’s white tent,

Bounces back inland.

Hilltop houses glow —

Sun striking through hole in clouds.

Shoreline’s in shadow.

Happy New Year

Peace to the world, and good work and adventure to you, in 2015.

sunset, altai mountains, mongolia

sunset, altai mountains, mongolia

The Christmas lights of Dyker Heights

If you’re not from NYC — or even if you are — you may have missed this phenomenon. Dyker Heights is a neighborhood in Brooklyn where the phantasmagoria of Christmas lights has, over the years, become both art and sport. People come from far and wide to view them, myself being no exception. Herewith, some examples. Lots more on Flickr; click on any of these to get there.

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

the christmas lights of dyker heights

Fifty-first Saturday

Ship chugs upriver

Against sharp-shadowed towers,

Glowing in sunlight.

At piling field’s end

Seagull floats on still water,

Cormorant dries wings.

Familiar yapping:

Four dachshunds on morning walk.

Three silent, one loud.

Fiftieth Saturday

Heavy dark gray clouds.

Thin spot over skyscrapers.

Pearly light shines down.

Brown bark, bare branches,

Gray stone pathway, winter grass.

Neon green tee shirt!

Wind blows hard from north.

Tide turns, river heads for sea.

Three seagulls fly low.

Hey, it’s me on a podcast!

Talking with Book Riot. Book Riot? Well, check it out: Here’s the link.

Get ’em while you can

After Dec. 31 the SJ Rozan Accordion Calendar and SJ Rozan Travel Calendar will be gone. You don’t really want to spend the year without one, do you?

Forty-ninth Saturday

Corrugated waves,

Square sharp-sided skyscrapers,

Velvet purple clouds.

Three seagulls glide by.

Flapping hard the other way,

One heads into wind.

Trees on far shore bare,

Revealing three brick buildings

Like winter flowers.

You can’t get rid of the BabaKnick.

Last night I was thinking of the Knicks and of horror movies at the same time. So, with thanks and apologies to to Jennifer Kent:

Throws up an airball, throws up a brick —

You can’t get rid of the BabaKnick.

Turns the ball over for no good reason —

The BabaKnick’s coming to murder the season.

Doesn’t rebound, makes dumb fouls —

The BabaKnick’s coming, hear the fans howl.

Can’t play D, leaves shooters wide open —

The BabaKnick’s killing a year we had hope in.

Phil Jackson is nauseous, Derek Fisher’s in fright —

The BabaKnick’s giving them many bad nights.

But there’s one silver lining, I tell you true:

Jim Dolan’s afraid of the BabaKnick, too.

Jingle Bells in the Mongolian Folk Style!

Where but here? The Altai Band plays Jingle Bells. Note: the tune is Western, but the instruments, the style, the throat singing — this is all pure Mongolian. (The deep notes and the odd buzzing, those are throat singing sounds.) A tip of the hat to Ruth Gruber, who sent me this.