Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I had a woman in my taxi who is a poet and told me her poem is hanging under Dylan's photo in the famous White Horse Tavern where Dan Ackroyd, Jack Keourac, John Belushi,KING OF NEW YORK HACKS, and many other artists imbibed regularly. Her poem which has a huge photo of Dylan Thomas above it is in the room called the Dylan room. Her name is Roberta Curley, though she told me she is working on a book and will use her maiden name Leshinsky. She was very engaging and I felt as if our conversation could have went on forever as we discusssed books, poetry, life in New York and how we all have these frozen moments with people in a New York minute that keeps us always fresh and inquisitive of each other, and in this particular taxi ride I was able to meet a poet who tipped me $10.00 on a $9.00 fare. Thats pretty damn generous, AND she said I could post her poem on my blog. She is supercool and I hope she has great success with her book that she is working on. The poem was printed in the West View paper,link below. Hope you enjoy and if not , well go frick yourself !!!! yeah frick !! Whatever that is.
Roberta Curley has lived in the West Village for the past 32 years. For much of that time Roberta worked as a senior administrative aide for the New York Police Department, and she has volunteered as a reader and sighted guide in the community. A voracious reader and dedicated journal writer, she draws her inspiration from her love of nature and from her interaction with, and fascination for, her fellow New Yorkers.
Is it the darkness I’m so afraid of
The harsh bleak blackness of the moonless sky
my own clicking brain like a time-bomb
nervously twitching, set to explode?
Does daylight stave off incorrigible fears?
Does the bogeyman exist only in darkness?
Perhaps he lurks unseen
soaking up sunlight and UV rays by day
gathering electric charges
used to terrify night crawlers
I walk with terror in each step
till my eyes fixate
on the White Horse Tavern windows
Brilliant fluorescent neon crimson lights
Budweiser, Guinness, Coors…
I conjure up Dylan Thomas’s spirit inside
hoist one up to fear
my lone companion of the night
Thanks for the tip, conversation, and poem Roberta.
I may be a poet
and not even no it,
but the tip will help me pay my tax
because I am The King Of New York Hacks.