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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Atticus on September 17, 2004, at 20:04:49
Corner of Madison and Warhol, 1984
Spiky coronal flash of synthetic white hair,
Shivery silvery starburst of tresses
Standing at attention
Like electrified strands of unstrung
Piano wire,
Stills the restless staccato shimmy
Danced by my pale blue
Summer-sky eyes
As I wait for the blazing glare
Of a traffic-light St. Peter
To blink
From Hades red to Elysium green
And open the pearly gates
To the keyboard crosswalk
So I can dance a too-cool tune
In checkerboard slip-on Vans
To the far corner
Of Madison and 59th.
But the shimmering Tinkerbell flash
Of tinsel-toned dandelion fluff
Tickling irresistibly
At the edge
Of my fission vision
Draws my jazzed and dazzled gaze
To the left
Where I find
Andy Warhol
Looking back quizzically
With one black eyebrow arched
From less
Than two feet away.
And the slightest smile
Plays across lips
Set into a shiny alabaster face
As I realize
This human wisp as frail
As a flower stem,
This iconic and ironic champion
Of the sugar-coated, celebrity-bloated
Power of pop culture,
Still
Draws warmth like a pale, pale moth
From the fluttering and guttering flame
Of being recognized.And my lips slide open
With a predator’s speed
With feral need
With undisguised greed,
Unwilling
To let this surreal
Twilight Zone suspension
Of our pungently
Mundane dimension
Just float away, lost
Amid the city’s sooty
Exhaust-scented ethers.
With studied casualness,
I light a Marlboro red
To steady
Nerves now clanging
Like metal wind chimes,
Dangling from a sidewalk subway grate,
Ringing cacophonously
As they’re jangled
By the steamy hot gusts
Sent skyward by passing trains
Packed
With anesthetized traumatized bowdlerized
Fleshy sacks
Stuffed and sagging under the weight
Of their own ponderous thunderous anonymity.“So,” I inquire,
My funky punky crown
Of so-sharp ebon spikes
Playing yang to the yin
Of his faux whiter-shade-of-pale quills,
“Just when
Are my 15 minutes
Coming up?”
And in a voice as soft and nonchalant
As a dove’s watery coo,
Yet still audible above
The flashy smash dash of
Pedestrians finally freed
From the curb’s detestable irresistible
Gravity,
He murmurs
In perfect droll fashionista trendinista deadpan,
“They already came
And went,
Last Tuesday,
While you were eating
A hotdog
That you bought
From a guy
On the sidewalk.”
He starts across the street,
Then adds over his right shoulder,
“Weren’t they great?”
And in a moment
He’s floating away
In the currents
Of the sidewalk’s sliding tides,
A bobbing albino sea urchin
Fluttering amid the unknowns.And I pull a long drag
On my quivering cig,
Spreading a Cheshire grin
Like a puddle of teeth
Across my features,
Pondering my daily lunch
Of street dog and Diet Coke,
All I can afford
In Midtown’s ten-dollar burger
Burgeoning bourgeoisie banquet.
But it’s all good,
All of Warhol’s Factory and
Studio 54-honed snarky malarkey,
Because now that I think of it,
That hotdog vendor
Did
Seem pretty fu**ing impressed
When I reached
Into my tatterdemalion leather motorcycle jacket,
And with a pauper’s flourish,
Gave him
Exact change.
-- Atticus
Posted by Jai Narayan on September 17, 2004, at 20:42:20
In reply to poem ... Corner of Madison and Warhol, posted by Atticus on September 17, 2004, at 20:04:49
hot really hot...hot... hot....hot!
Dang!
loved it.
Locally we have an andy warhol show...it was expensive to attend. I did not go, but I could hear the crowds, music and the traffic. A cop was in the traffic with his whistle.
I suppose I could have gone but....I really don't fit in. THE crowd is not my crowd.
We have two movies playing in town about Warhol.
Perfect.
I have seen them both.
what is it about the famous?
Why do they make us quiver?
you are the best Atticus!
Posted by Atticus on September 17, 2004, at 23:13:23
In reply to Re: poem ... Corner of Madison and Warhol, posted by Jai Narayan on September 17, 2004, at 20:42:20
If you live in Manhattan all your life, these kinds of very brief street-level celebrity encounters tend to happen a lot. I think this one stands out in my mind because of his art and because I was only 14 when it happened. I don't think I would have had the nerve to say that to him if I had been older and known more about his work. But as it was, my immaturity and brazen chutzpah sparked a witty comment from him that I'll never forget. It was a pretty good hotdog, though. ;) Atticus
Posted by malthus on September 18, 2004, at 19:09:20
In reply to poem ... Corner of Madison and Warhol, posted by Atticus on September 17, 2004, at 20:04:49
The fact that you saw and talked to Andy Warhol three years before his death is amazing! And your description of him..."But the shimmering Tinkerbell flash Of tinsel-toned dandelion fluff
Tickling irresistibly..." is the only allusion to
his hair because you didn't see a man with a wig you saw Andy Warhol. I imagine that's in
keeping with his look that attracted so may people. I think even if people didn't recognize him as a famous artist, they knew he was someone important. What's interesting to me about this poem is that the energy seeping out of every word would have been something he would have liked.malthus
Posted by Atticus on September 18, 2004, at 20:31:15
In reply to Re: poem ... Corner of Madison and Warhol » Atticus, posted by malthus on September 18, 2004, at 19:09:20
This is probably my favorite Manhattan brush-with-celebrity story, both because I was at such an impressionable age, 14, and because there actually was a bit of smart-ass interaction; he could've easily just ignored me. But I think he was sufficiently flattered by the dumbfounded look on my early adolescent face to find the whole thing amusing. After all, here was a kid reacting to a celebrity whose silkscreens were ironic odes to celebrity. On the one hand, I wish I had been a little older and more mature, so I could have appreciated the moment more as it happened; on the other hand, if Warhol were still alive and such an encounter had occurred yesterday, I'd probably have been so tongue-tied that our little 20 second-long repartee would never have taken place. Thanks for your kind words about the poem. I've told this story verbally a million times, but this is the first time I ever thought to write it down. I have a large framed poster of a Warhol painting of a comic book panel that I bought at a MOMA basement sale in 1989 hanging over my bed. ;) Atticus
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