(When I think about Subjects I Have Addressed in these poems,
for years, flea markets have recurred often. Because I love them)
Thousands of times I’ve walked across
this street to the flea market
sort of a Museum of Natural History
yesterday I went with Denise she used to live
in this building used to go to the flea market
she loves it too happy to discover
all she did beautiful purple nightgown
small hand sewn beads
wedding dresses from Gujarat (I had one once)
orange felt blazer always earrings
hard not to buy them bright blue cylinders of glass
and then there are the vendors
friends now after all these years
i’ve gotten all my nightgowns from Gladys
and yesterday she had red pajamas
now I have them too and afterwards
we walked through the farmer’s market
for Watermelon radishes and we weren’t
too late to buy them.
I first met composer/conductor Karel Husa in a visit to Cornell in 1966.
In 1972 I began studying with him, in graduate school
(after Harvard and a Fulbright year in Europe).
I told him I had found an LP of him conducting Bartok.
"Where did you find that?"
"On the Paris Flea Market."
"The Paris Flea Market!? I've made it!"
:>)
Thank you for introducing me to your Flea Market friends. I love my new jammies, and I went back for the cashmere sweater.