I am a captive
in a city of war and hate.
Will good and love ever
conquer our enemies?
Forgotten were the days
of love, many worlds ago.
Today a new world, a new life,
a new love.
I hear the music
of the wind.
It sings of lost worlds,
a lost hope and a lost city.
(from “My Thoughts of the City” by Selena)
One afternoon, an NBC News reporter stood outside the Upper West Side building. The camera was on and adolescents were leaning out the fifth floor window waving. When I asked the reporter if he’d like to see some of the students poetry, he apologized and said his report on the rehab was negatively slanted, driven by that neighborhood’s version of nimby (not in my backyard).
10/28/86
Nick, the OES teacher assigned to Phoenix House, on crutches due to multiple sclerosis, was being helped into his car by Arthur. I gave him a copy of the site magazine and went up to the fifth floor. There was another class already in session in the room. The social worker removed the group and the writing class entered. I handed out the magazines. Janet was very excited by seeing her play in print. Selena was doubly excited at seeing her poetry and ran through the offices shouting, “My poems are in a book.” Minerva came and sat down to read her work. I suggested we invite other students so they could act out Janet’s play. Janet returned with the students who were the actual characters in her play, and they read their parts. The students were told that if anyone wanted to contribute to the next issue of the magazine, he or she is welcome to do so. All the students from the site stayed to hear the whole magazine read aloud. Minverva’s article was on Maya Angelou. Janet said she sounds like a white person. I’ll bring in the anthology, Black Voices. Selena said the illustrations were perfect for her poems. That’s what surprises me -- how the students enjoy the old etchings. (copyright free pictures that Barbara found in Dover and other old publications).
This was the fourth site based magazine Waterways put out in that first year of working with the alternative programs. There were seven more sites to go. Students who were reluctant to be identified while they were in a program asked that only their first names be published.
Inspired by their own publications, students wanted to get their message out. Janet's essay, “Being Homeless,” began: Being homeless is rough. I am homeless. I live in one room in a welfare hotel. I live with my mother and little brother who is four years old.
11/25/86
Full class today with excitement over the new texts: “Black Voices” and “The Voice That is Great Within Us”. The assistant director, came to class to see the texts. I collected written materials from the students. The exercise for the day was to write interviews. First Janet interviewed Dennis (originally from Virginia, his father was a jazz musician). Wes interviewed Selena (her family was originally from Cuba). Minerva interviewed Arthur and Dennis was interviewing Wes when the bell for the fire drill rang. I assigned Paul Laurence Dunbar and Robert Frost for next week.
There was a time I tried to get to a higher truth, or in touch with my muse through the use of drugs that helped me write through my inhibitions. As a teacher, I urged the students to quit their drug use.
Midterm there was a turnover in staff.
2/17/87
The class read Louis Reyes Rivera’s poem for Malcolm X. Students spoke about times they saw someone shot. Minerva and Selena were at a party when a drunken friend fired his gun willy nilly from his window. Robert wrote about the tragedy of his friend’s death.
One day I was hanging out and something happened. Something that would remind me of the dangers in the street. My friend, dear friend, was shot down in front of me. It was one of the worst experiences in my life. He was so innocent and likable. I just could not understand why it was him.
The person was on drugs and didn’t have any money. He just came out with a gun and started shooting at everything that moved. I got up and started to run.
When I realized that my friend had been shot, I ran up to him. He said, “Please turn me over, so no one can see me.” So I did as he said.
Ever since then, I knew he was fighting for his life. The next day he died. I was very unhappy and suffered a lot afterwards.
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