Tent Homes, Wave of the future?( no pun intended)

 In light of the recent Hurricane Sandy and it's aftermath, I remembered this small town of Ocean Grove New Jersey and it's tent cottages  developed in 1869 as a Christian Camp Community http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ocean_Grove,_New_Jersey

 https://www.google.com/search?q=tent+homes+ocean+grove+new+jersey+images&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=rL4&tbo=u&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&tbm=isch&source=univ&sa=X&ei=QiOlUKzEK4Hs2QX0oIH4Bg&ved=0CC8QsAQ&biw=1366&bih=595
Perhaps these types of dwellings would be easier to insure, and replace if need be.  I remember a time when it was considered cool in popular culture to have a shack on the beach. Curious how people in 1869 seemed to have more common sense even before the days of global warming, than those people of  today, perhaps they still remembered the Biblical quote about building your house on the shifting sands. 95 percent of my relatives live in New Jersey, they are all safe and basically okay(despite being without power for over a week), even their homes, luckily. I found that in  this disaster, the blogosphere was more helpful in obtaining information than the local authorities. Thank Goodness that there is a blog in my mom's hometown that was able to be updated in terms of power , gas and food issues.I had to relay information to her via cell phone, since I live in Idaho USA. I have now realized that in a major crisis one needs cash and not credit when power goes out in order to buy any essentials like food or gas.I kept thinking of the Mad Max II Road Warrior movie quote from Gyro Captain something to the effect of "it's all about the petrol mate"  One of my relatives said to me that the shore will never be the same since those days at the beach we remember, but in my mind, N.J. hasn't been the same since I was a kid, in many ways, as there are almost twice as many more people, cars, and buildings. The farms and wild wooded places I remember are now subdivisions  and shopping plazas.I often wondered why I was so inclined to go back to the land in rural America and aim for self sufficiency, despite one of my cousin's sarcastic comments about living in the boondocks. I have my own woodlot and cut my own firewood for heat, and grow a lot of my own food. I now see how big urban systems break down, quickly and leave people unable to take care of themselves. So maybe, my hybrid life of retro/ modernism
 spinning yarn on a foot powered spinning wheel while listening to lectures at the European Graduate School http://www.egs.edu/on the web, is not such a strange lifestyle choice after all. Sorry for the devastating loss of the Hurricane victims and many New Jersey-ans, nature can be rather callous,  it is up to us humans to find balance between progress, business, and  nature. Perhaps the marketplace i.e. insurance marketplace will be one of the arbiters. Here's a poem I wrote concerning the situation

              Chess Match
the houses swallowed up the land
the sea swallowed up the houses

Frank O'Hara poet reading his work

my favorite Frank O'Hara poem "Why I am Not a Painter"

this is my favorite poem by Frank O'Hara - "Why I am not a Painter" you can link directly to it here if you're interested in reading it http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=171361 As for me, I have always loved painting, but find myself more skilled in the 3 dimensional arts of sculpture and ceramic art as well as writing. I greatly admire those who can paint, my spoofs on- junk as modern art- come from an admiration for modern art and inability to visit my favorite urban galleries and museums more often. They are in the spirit of paean to- rather than criticism of

mestre (poem)

mixed bag
bare feet stomping on the wooden floor
tall black guy wearing his sweat jacket
with the hood up
drinking a beer from a paper bag
he kept on the windowsill

in the back of the room
some getting up
some coming down
drums pounding
berimbau, mysterious, haunting
playful porteuguese voice
flirting, taunting
legs flying higher
ginga, ginga.., ginga..,.
puerto rican girl with the pouty face
getting into it
spirit, floating in the air
grounded in a faraway recess
we all came for it
reconnecting to life
in the batizada
the chamada
this place called a dance class
spiritual initiation hall
to more than we could understand

(Loremil Machado 1954-1994 )

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVuKnE7496I&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4s-M4QdlJyQ&feature=related

poem for Vito

Vito was an old Italian portrait painter

who lived over our loft
on East 12th street

in n.y.c..
The one next to Physique Memorabilia,
a little hole in the wall vintage magazine shop.
He spent his days painting and listening to opera
which I could hear
penetrating the wooden floor boards that seperated the space between us
If we got too loud underneath him he would bang his pots and pans on the floor
and yell

"shud UUUUP"
I miss you Vito,

although I hardly even knew you
green party members coming in and out of our lives,
Roberto the Nuyorican poet
Ben the old vaudville actor sleeping on the trampoline we found abandoned in Jersey City
occasional sitings of Frank Stella on the street
and that trip to City Island,
Who were we?
then and now?

With Scenery like this who needs modern art?

places I have lived;
N.J, N.Y.C
California
Vermont
Washington state
Oregon
Idaho

places I would like to live in the future;
Chile
Argentina
Cuba
somewhere in Mexico
San Luis Potosi
the South of France

Favorite poem by Sparrow

Muffin
The Earth is a muffin, still warm inside.

http://www.softskull.com/detailedbook.php?isbn=1-932360-86-7

the poetry of process

holding the wool and silk in my hands
scrunching and folding
repeating over and over again
fingers inspired by the materials
look at the lovely essence of the silk
dancing together with wool
like Isadora Duncan
on stage
many tiny steps
until it is finished, complete