Photography Thinks
So, my friend Karl Berry, the poet, will have hip surgery. He motors around on his scooter, stopping at Starbucks to write a few verses. MS, cataracts, arthritis and who knows what else. In two weeks, he gets his hips done.
He carries a lot in his head, translating it into poems. Writes a little like the beats, Baraka more than Ginsburg. Has a CD out with an image I shot. The pith helmet seems out of place in Burlington. He doesn’t care.
He looks a lot more like Rembrandt than Robert Frost.
Cold and damp. Chilling. Trudged in through the snow. Carried some food, batteries and socks. Some live in the woods by choice. Others because they don’t have one. Larry and Matt do as they want. Don’t have to deal with what goes on. Both give thanks for what they have.
My hands were so cold I couldn’t find the shutter. Batteries didn’t keep their charge. The guys felt free, hardly feeling the freezing temperatures. Batteries run a radio. Socks and powder stave off dead toes. Canned food can be heated. Next time clean long johns and sterno. Not for me to judge, just hope they make it through the winter.
Just great characters, worthy of all the love, help and support which all of us feel entitled to.
Lost on the street. Don’t know when they got here or where they are going. Lost on the street. All in need of repair, in some way. Kelly sits on the street every day. Its her job. She always needs a dollar or two before she can leave. Shivering doesn’t stop her. She has a home and supports a family. Noble and strong looking. Somedays a smile. Somedays a tear.
Aaron doesn’t let the snow stop him. He walks everywhere. Always styling, careful about his looks. Likes coffee and cigarettes. Gentle and shy. Terrific smile.
Rob Roy looks out of place. Suffers from gout. Rails against injustice.
And then there is the traveller. Charlie the Traveller. He wonders just the same as we all do. When will it end and how. Not caring about the fiscal cliff, but who knows?
I met Amber a few years ago when she visited Paul. With the hat and heavy coat I didn’t recognize her. Reappeared in City Hall Park the other day. She was looking for me. Wants to work on a photography project with me for school. Her assignment is to find a local photographer to shoot.
She didn’t have a camera; lost the charger. I shot. She posed. We bothered a few passersby to hold a small reflector. The light at 12:00 poked through the bare trees harshly, bouncing off the metal sculptures. No time to head for cover.
Then we walked down to little park in front of the Men’s Room hair salon. Bitterly cold. Low, unremitting light.
Hadn’t seen him for a while. Went home to see family for Thanksgiving. Staying off the street at Chad’s place, which is near Leddy Park and an Hannaford’s. He can use his food stamps and hang out in a more bucolic setting.
He says he is “a work in progress, just stuck in a groove for the present time.”
James has some problems showing up at school. He says he’s ready to do things. Needs more control over himself. Knows he is smart. Knows he can produce. Needs some support. Tired of prepping and ready to move on.
Richard used to control the area near Price Chopper in South Burlington. He has been put off Church St and barred from City Hall Park. But he hasn’t given up on Burlington, yet.
Tough work, if you can deal with sitting on the pavement. Paul used to say it was good work if you could deal with the rain and wind. Paul died on a grate. Richard doesn’t sit alone. Skippy sits nearby, alert and oblivious.
And then there was this new guy who said when I asked him his name, “I have been called many names….”
People have a chance to speak. Those in power listen. Who has the power. Difficult to say. But this weekly discussion takes place in public.
And anyone who runs for office and tries to do Government right, deserves our credit and thanks.
Always a joy to watch him pick up bottles. He puts the non-deposits in the trash and the ones with value in his cart. 76. “I have to keep doing useful work.”
One day I have to look at some of the older photos of my people. I recognize the people whom I have seen before, weather beaten and aged. Some like Coyote lift my spirits, connecting me to other old friends from the street, here and departed. I remember photographing him, but not his wife, a woman whom he said befriended Paul. He told me Paul was going to stay with them the night he died in the street, but never made it. Lots of people from the street look out for one another.
Looks healthy. Lost his apartment. Too many dropins and too much drinking. Went to jail for two months for a dis con. Said he’s happy to be alive.
