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New Town Future Film

November 24, 2015 / SJ Rozan / One comment

Went to Red Hook last night to see the presentation of “New Town Future Film,” a video by my buddy, the photographer/videographer Ana Bilankov. We met in 2006 at the Atlantic Center for the Arts, one of my favorite places on the planet. Ana is from Zagreb, lives and works now in Berlin, and has been to NYC on artist’s residencies three times in the last few years. Among other things she’s been working on is this film, which is twenty minutes of the most stunning, noirish, dreamlike images you’ll ever see. I have no images from the film, or any of her works, to post, but when you go to her website you’ll see them, and here I offer you this shot of Ana introducing the work. It’s kind of Bilankovian in feel, itself.

River report

November 12, 2015 / SJ Rozan / 3 comments

Lots of fog in the past few days, much of it beautifully low-hanging enough to dissolve the tops of the towers on both sides of the river. Cormorants huddling on the pilings, gulls swooping, and a red-tail who seems to be making the neighborhood his home. Fingers of gold leaves from the locust trees lying in criss-crosses on dark wet stone. This morning, sudden silver bursts of fish jumping from the water right in front of my bench. I watched for a while hoping they were being chased by a seal who’d eventually surface. Seals from New England do winter in Jamaica Bay, but they don’t often come this far up the Hudson. I’ve only seen one here, about four years ago. Did not see one this morning. In the end I had to admit the predator was probably just a bigger fish.

Harry Houdini’s grave

November 10, 2015 / SJ Rozan / No comments

Because I know you want to see it. Houdini was a Hungarian Jew, the son of a rabbi. Born Erich Weisz, he later spelled his last name Weiss because it was easier to explain. When he became a professional magician he called himself Harry after Harry Kellar, and Houdini after Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin, two magicians he admired (though he later went on to expose Robert-Houdin as a liar, if not exactly a fraud).

Houdini’s buried in Queens, in what’s called the “cemetery belt” on the Terminal Moraine. (Really.) This is not the world’s best photo of his grave, but I had to take it from outside the fence, because when we went to see it, the cemetery gate was locked. That kept us out, though of course there’s no reason to think it’s keeping him in…

I love New York

November 5, 2015 / SJ Rozan / No comments

Two tween boys walking down the street pass a newly installed holiday display. One grabs the other’s arm, points, and in mock horror says, “Oh my god, WHERE is that bear TOUCHING him?” They both crack up and walk on.

I love New York.

Chinggis is my homeboy

October 28, 2015 / SJ Rozan / 3 comments

Chinggis Khan would roll over in his grave if he heard me say that, except chances are he was never put in the ground. In his day people of importance often received “sky burials” — their bodies were taken to a high mountain and left for the birds to devour. It was an honor.

Chinggis is everywhere in Mongolia. The best vodka is named for him, and the best beer. Whatever it is, if it’s best, it’s called Chinggis. Outside Ulaan Baatar they’ve built a giant, by which I mean giant, statue of Chinggis on his horse, ready for battle. Stainless steel, with actually quite a good museum in the underground base. (Click on any of these to see more on Flickr.) You can go on up in it, like in the Statue of Liberty. How big is this thing? Back in the day they used to cut the horse’s manes short so they’d bristle. The bristles in the mane of Chinggis’s horse here are people.

The man himself.

Royal hand with scepter and distant gers.

He’s got his eye on you.

There is one problem, however. The place where you emerge from the statue into the light is perhaps not as well thought out as it might have been. Here’s me, emerging.

It’s the latest it’s the greatest it’s the Library

October 27, 2015 / SJ Rozan / 5 comments

Anyone remember that jingle? It’s from so long ago I can’t even say when. I’ve always been a big fan of libraries, especially the New York Public Library, my hometown system. Never as much as now, however. Because of construction in the apartment above me, I’ve been forced to flee and find other places to write. That’s how I discovered Malcolm Gladwell’s café (no, he doesn’t own it, he just writes there) and some other fine spots around the city; but by far the best is the DeWitt Wallace Periodical Room at the 42nd Street Library. The building where the reservoir used to be (there, a fact for free) with the lions, Patience and Fortitude, flanking the steps outside. You sit here surrounded by other hard-working people — some of them actually reading periodicals — and by carved moldings, high windows, and frescoes of NYC buildings, with faux-marble frames. What writer couldn’t get something done here?

carved ceiling 30 feet above our heads

high window and hard-working people

fresco with faux-marble frame

I love New York

September 17, 2015 / SJ Rozan / 2 comments

66th Street, south side, from the north side

66th St, north side, from the south side

9/11

September 11, 2015 / SJ Rozan / One comment

I know I owe you guys a lot of posts — Mongolia, Italy, the new book, a bunch of short stories, all kinds of things — but it’s the anniversary of 9/11 and I’d like to just pause and remember. Back to you tomorrow.

Julia the farmer

July 24, 2015 / SJ Rozan / 3 comments

I’ve written from Assisi before about the Nigerian woman and her Italian husband who cleared the earthquake debris out of the San Pietro churchyard four years ago and started a farm. The farm is one of the first stops I make when I arrive here every year and I’m pleased to report they’re doing well.

Julia

plums

more plums

giant zucchini

onions

plums again

Small town 4th of July

July 8, 2015 / SJ Rozan / No comments

On of the small North Fork towns read the Declaration of Independence aloud after the parade. A kid sang God Bless America, kids did the reading, and then the last reader was a local bigwig who asked “all citizens of the United States” to stand and repeat the last line together, the part about “we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.” Gotta say, it was pretty cool.