[lbo-talk] Spirit of Berkeley...

[joanna bujes]

I took my budding ballerina daughter to see the Bolshoi at UC Berkeley 
this evening. Walking up Telegraph Ave, toward campus, I ran into Julia 
Vinograd -- Berkeley's street poet laureate for some thirty years now. 
One runs into Julia on any given day on or around campus. So this must 
have been the thousandth and some time that our paths have crossed. She 
is on the shorter side of five feet, stout, and favors an intelligent 
earth mother look -- but loose, frumpy, nothing like the respectable 
Berkeley matrons pushing their kids around in German strollers.. 
Sometimes she dispenses bubbles....out of a five and dime plastic bubble 
cup; other times she hawks her poetry. She is the author of some forty 
eight poetry books. They are now five bucks a pop -- cheap as dirt for 
anything between two covers.

Tonight -- maybe because of the election, because I don't know how much 
longer she can last on the streets, because I have always liked the 
looks of her, because her poetry is pretty decent -- I actually bought a 
book. The very first poem "For a Friend Arrested at the Demonstration" 
reminded me of all the reasons I have stayed in the Bay area for the 
last twenty eight years, and all the reasons why I want to stay in this 
country and fight. I'll type it out here in case it has that same 
salutary effect on others:

For a Friend Arrested at the Demonstration

"I spent the last 14 hours in jail," he announced,
all grinning and rumpled, black unwashed curls.
Heroes get coffee, I got him coffee.
"Tell me about it," I asked.
"Well," he gulped his macchiato with both hands
"we were in the street and I couldn't see anyway
so I thought: I'll do a Ginsberg
so I sat down, crossed my legs and put my hands out
and pretty soon we were all holding hands.
And then the mounted police came
and I was sitting in front of a horse.
You know," he interrupted himself with a small sip of coffee,
"a horse really is hung like a horse.
I thought it was just a way of talking.
They paked us into vans and separated men and women
at the holding station. We all sang God Bless America,
it made the guards wonderfully grumpy
and the girls all sang Itsy Bitsy Spider
they must've been beautiful girls
to make Itsy Bitsy Spider ring like the Liberty Bell.
We talked all night like Socrates or Kerouac or Bugs Bunny,
even in jail no-one could catch us.
But jail food sucks, in the morning I got out
and got myself breakfast and wrote this poem"
His yellow notepaper sent lines spinning like frisbees.
Then the coffeehouse door burst open
and a 19 year old girl, bare feet, bare arms
short black hair, short black dress bounced in out of breath.
"Hey you guys," she insisted, "do either of you have a condom?"
"Yeah," my friend said, a little shook, "do you want 2?"
She gave him a special just-for-you smile.
"Oh yes," she said and ran out.
"Freedom," I sighed and drank my coffee.
"Oh yes," he said and watched the light
dancing where her footprints had been.
-----------------------

Joanna