Poetry of Coney Island

89.9 Radio Shows

An astonishing poet  recently sent me a link to an excellent radio show on which she, along with a number of other poets including Michael Schwartz, recited their works about Coney Island. I sat and listened to artist after artist delivering their lines and at the conclusion of each reading came a guttural 'hmmph' from my end.

Next to Coney Island, the only thing that really lights my fire is the essence of passion. There need not be a specified topic for which the passion is exhibited but just the simple idea of having a passionate stance on something, anything really, is marvelous.  Being somewhat of a poet myself I understand how easy it is to find Coney Island a pure inspiration. There is just something that awakens the spirit down there. Numerous times I have found myself sitting on the boardwalk or walking barefoot on the wet sand,  where the waves break on the shore line, and poetry just ran through my veins. The fluidity from with which the thoughts and language would run through me felt like an intravenous drip of uncut magic.

I've never really tried to decipher the mystery of the sand at Coney Island. Instead, I've accepted it and embraced it as part of the reason why I'll always be a Coney Island kinda girl. Judging by the numerous poets featured on Anne Cammon Fiero's 89.9 FM talk radio show the unexplained must be
true to others as well. Serving as an inspiration to us all, Brant Lyon, Puma Perl and Hawley Hussey each read their work followed by a show topping story by  Michael Schwartz telling the tale of a grifters life in the world of Coney amusements.

I am not in the interest of deconstructing a poet's words as I am a firm believer in spectators taking from a  piece of art what they will. With that said, I refuse to break down the poems shared on the show. I would, however, like to take a moment to make special mention of the poem by Puma Perl entitled 'Walking to Coney Island'. As I stood in my apartment preparing to go out for dinner, the recording filled the air and as Puma read the words to this piece I found myself leaning over a mirror, frozen with mascara wand in hand, listening to the poem's closing lines:

I remember taking a bath
and wondering why Coney Island
was so mean in the winter,
and how long it would take
to walk there in the Spring'

Bouncing off the walls of my bedroom, these words made me think of nothing other than the possibility of an endless winter for Coney Island. The constant talks and negotiations between the City of NY and Thor Equities, as well as the property sales which have already occurred, invoke many feelings in me but the one that is most prevalent is fear. I am absolutely terrified of losing my Coney Island summer. Making my way down to the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel as early as Easter Sunday has become
a tradition in my life. With Coney Island comes countless memories of a time that was simpler and frankly, more grandiose. Whether it be walking, running, dancing or floating to Coney Island I need to know that in my future more summers live. I need to know that what has become one of my undying passions, what serves as  an avenue to share my voice, and what I've come to truly love in this lifetime will be there to meet me on a street corner of broken Brooklyn concrete -

Forever my passion - and - forever my summer in Coney Island.