“The Cats Didn’t Seem to Care” Audre Lorde,
and other September Poems/ Thoughts
The cats didn't seem to care that I was out dancing till 2 am. They needed food. The book I was reading for book group, Survival is a Promise, the eternal life of Audre Lorde needed reading. Survival was everything, said Mom a few hours later at lunch, perking up. Our parents were gone. We lost them, said mom, referring to a seminal moment in her life, losing her parents and grandparents in quick succession seventy years ago. Other losses mounting, nothing that would sting quite like that. We toasted to living, to fun, to beer at the airport.
Back home Janet, who takes care of mom, told me about another loss.
Her younger brother, John, finally passed, Mom told me, confirming.
Uncle John,
Who lost his parents,
Struggling growing up in the Jim Crow South, where silences were everywhere, where Carson left, followed by Mom, escaping a social etiquette that suffocated.
Mom’s brother, the last link to her old life, her childhood,
John from Columbus, John who drove the kids about on his boat,
who came to our weddings, who smiled and regaled us with stories, who dad never understood, who welcomed us, who smiled, who welcomed Mom.
I think of riding horses on his farm in Pittsview Alabama all those years ago, of knowing him all those years ago.
Swimming with him, a magic day on his boat with my kids, everyone jumping in the water, John smiling, giving mom a glass of wine, everyone smiling, even Mom.
No one could imagine that was the last time I’d see him.
Godspeed John.
At book group, we talked about the abyssal plane and the depth of the ocean, Audre getting scolded for reading Forever Amber, writing about cancer as a metaphor.
"Ancestor Audre shows up in. every goddess up and down 125th Street," writes Gumbs.
CJ recalled her poem at St John the Divine:
“when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.”
Says CJ:
“She’s in a far orbit. I wanted her to be closer.”
On we talked about her universe and ours,
Her friendship with Diane de Prima,
Who she consoled.
Yet, who consoled Audre when her high school friend Genevieve took her own life, wondered Gumps, tracing year after year of the stories about her, light transforming, a muse becoming a star.
“Lorde unleashed “a burst of light,” a blazing beacon that is still aglow. Gumbs’s prose is an exquisite gem that catches the light and reveals Lorde in prismatic color,” says La Marr Jurelle Bruce, this majestic bio revealing, “a Lorde who is akin to flower, volcano, tree, star, whale, honeybee, diamond, meteor, burst of light, and more.”
On we circled about the table, offering hot takes.
A bit like My Autobiography of Carson McCullers, this is not a conventional biography, says Julie, full of amazing stories, but not the full story, of her life and family.
Vicki reveled in this story of Lorde as a survivor, who fought for her life, non verbal till five years old, abused, ever navigating access to Hunter High and then college. She died when she was 58. Stress killed her dad, keeping it inside. Lorde traced the stories of the toxins in the physical as well as the mental environments. She exposed herself to radiation working in a factory. The day Baldwin died, it was national news. The day she died, there was almost nothing. Bittersweet.
“I like her integration of the archive,” says Nora, a librarian and poet, who reveled in her similarities with the poet. She was a convener, a teacher. The earth’s plane is unknown, says Lorde, an abyssal plane we can’t reach. This "abyssal plane"—can be seen as a deep, unreachable ocean floor—is a mythological and scientific idea, a poetic metaphor for the parts of reality that are unmapped or inaccessible. Its unknown is spread throughout the depths of the ocean. It's good to know there are parts of our world we don’t know or understand. She paused. There is a deep intimacy, 630 AM phone calls, comradeship, long letters. We were not meant to survive, she wrote. Still, she read everything her father brought home. Even Forever Amber by Kathleen Winsor and its open exploration of female sexuality.
I’m fascinated with her stories of her Island Home St Croix, their trees, the rays of light she seemed to see, to feel a part of like, another Berlin transplant, like Bowie, who swam in the Krumme Lanke, who Berlin buddies, reminding us the scent of fascism is still in the air, in the deportations, the Roma attacks, the treatment of immigrants, the lingering resentments.
Born in Harlem, she considered the island of St. Croix her home. She co-authored Hell Under God's Orders after Hurricane Hugo devastated the island in 1989. Lorde died of liver cancer in St. Croix in 1992.
Reading, I felt myself welling up, thinking of young Audre, forlorn, writing like Emily Dickinson, saying goodbye to Genevieve, writing about her her whole life.
Ten years into book club, we picked three more books, putting Drive the Plow over the bones of the dead by olga korbut on deck for next time, with As I Lay Dying, Faulkner’s 1930 for October, The Baron in the Trees for November, and The Female Quixote by Charlotte Lennox on for December.
And walked through the neighborhood, by the canal, up to 5th Ave, past Barely Disfigured, where we were out dancing the night before, music still pumping in the air, looking at the old spots, the first floor laundry mats, C Town, selling food for the people, the new buildings emerging, surrounding us, envelop us in the shinny new, and federico and i watched the naked civil servant, the made-for-television biographical comedy-drama from 1975 about Quentin Crisp, exhibiting his homosexuality in the highly conservative environment of England in the 1930s and 1940s.
“Fear and hatred do not seem to find expression in tears,” says Quentin Crisp, reminding us,
“I learned very early in life that I was always going to need people more than they needed me.”
“You can’t demonize people and then be surprised when they act like demons,” says Baby C.
It was that kind of a month.
Our silence wasn’t going to protect us.
September 2
NYC
Back and town from meeting friends at 2A, in the Lower East Side.
Wendy took this pic. And Andrew talked about Napoleon and the tactical flaw at Waterloo. And Christine talked about Salvador. And I thought about my student who saw someone themself on the subway. And Brennon showed us pics of his new bike. And Rob talked about the Dodgers. And Virginia got us Samosas from Punjabi. And talked about the New Yorker. And we started dancing with Joe Anne. And I invited everyone to poetry at Siempre Verde Community garden on September 20th at 2 PM. And the Lower East Side felt alive.
Cleve Jones drops a note:
“Fuck you CNN. Your headline "Chicago braces for Trump's immigration crackdown" is such bullshit. It's not an immigration crackdown, it's a dress rehearsal for military occupation of a Democratic majority city. The same week Trump says he's going to issue an Executive Order to outlaw mail-in ballots. The MAGA plan is obvious - use military force to suppress voter turnout in key locations like Chicago, Philadelphia, Clark County, Maricopa County, Fulton County, and black and latino precincts in Michigan, Ohio, Minnesota, etc. Yes, I know his EOs are illegal but that won't stop his Border Patrol/Proud Boy goon squads with an assist from Republican state National Guard troops from enforcing them, will it? It's so easy: pick the top 20 locations where reduced Democratic turnout makes the most difference and show up with tanks and teargas to create chaos and intimidate voters. And in every single Republican controlled state they will be reducing polling places, adding requirements and doing whatever the fuck they want to depress the vote. Oh, and today is Labor Day and there are protests all over the country but you wouldn't know it from CNN's webpage.
Rant over. I'll probably take this down when I'm calmer.”
September 6
Baby C met me at the Russian Turkish Baths, Judy and Gene met us at Brooklyn Social chatting into the night, walking over to Big Tiny, talking about it all through the years and years, from Dallas when we in high school, moving, meeting in nyc decades later, to LA, strolling on Venice Beach, to these days now that our kids are done with high school, onward through the years. Appreciation for friends. Thanks for the pic @guten212
September 7th
Woke up to Rexroth and Audre Lorde, looking at Judy's pic of Gene and I, picking up a copy of Rexroth on the way out to the Rockaways, ran into Margo, talking about horrible pipeline the gov wants to send through here, meeting husband who was off to a skating contest, greeting the birds at low tide, meeting Michelle Yasmine Valladares, talking about her reading next weekend, swimming with Babs and Judy, who sent me pics of the Bernie rally at Brooklyn College, out to Moms for movies and old Julia Child episodes, hanging out with Shannon and Mom...into the night.... Talking about old friends, Bruce, says Mom, we had a good time doing lots of things, with food, counting the knots on rugs through the years.
September 8th
Reflecting on a long day. left the day before. My book tumbled out of my bag. Mom and I watched movies all night. Next morning, we had breakfast. I realized the book was gone, lost in my crazy rush, dads old notes from when we were in Chicago, gone, off to judson for a wonderful service. Attachment is complicated, says Micah. I can't stop thinking I lost dads old rexroth novel on the way to see my sick mother. very messy feelings. It's not easy letting go. off to see ray then baby c at metrograph japanese movie all about lily chou. On the way home, I walk up and down the street. There it is on a stoop next door, the book soaked from the rain. back home, repaired the book, drying page after page. meeting federico and max, back to the book for book group, stories of early 1920's Chicago... one day a girl came in when a girl was in the office... she said, do you do locksmithing... licensed locksmith... could you change a lot of locks for us. You'd have to do this at night?
There it is, that feeling again from long ago, lost and found feelings....on i poured through dads notes, soaking wet... notes about poetry and the sublime still intact... although slightly obscured...football games, audre lorde poems, a repaired novel....
our host reads, A Christmas Note for Geraldine Udell, included in The Complete Poems of Kenneth Rexroth, explaining;
So much has escaped me, so much lies covert
Thought of other times, the hope filled post war years,
Festivals, exultant eyes, dishevelled lips,
Eyes dulled now, and lips thinned,
Festivals that have betrayed their occasions.
The heroine on the eve of explosion;
The veering wind brings the cold, organic smell
(From the poem "A Christmas Note for Geraldine Udell".)
September 9
A full day in the life, teaching the history of the welfare state, how to alleviate, cure, or prevent poverty, one student comes in late and says the prop is trans athletes. oy ve. in its 16th ruling for the pres, the supreme court has said its fine to profile and harass Latinos and immigrants, on we debated. while federico and baby c were on broadway, max, greg emil,y and i were at barbes and lucky bar planning our escape to columbia....
September 10
The Daily NewsEducation reports
“Mystery swirls as Columbia University student handcuffed by people claiming to be federal agents”
September 10th
I rode up to the PIT, on South 5th, to check out the info shop, greeting Kim speaking about fighting the Williams Pipeline, Dorian, showing me about the shop. And Seth telling the story of a city. "Eric Drooker and Seth Tobocman perform[ing] their comic strips with projections of the images with music by CONTINUITY OF STRUGGLE..." With influences from Käthe Kollwitz to Allen Ginsberg, the two told stories. Seth imagined talking with his mother about Gaza, reflecting on her life at a demo, before recalling she was long dead. We carry our struggles and torments each day, walking through the streets, imagining a city, ever changing along with our reflections.
September 11th
The usual.
Blueskies,
Gunshots,
Violence,
Recriminations.
The beat goes on.
The NY Times reports “texas-professor-fired-gender-ideology.”
"Buenas tardes," says Milton Santiago, as the new interim president at #CityTech/CUNY. A social worker by trade, he talked about our students, the need for compassion, for all of us to look out for each other, for openness referring to the New Colossus:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
September 12
Who killed the horse wessel? Some say it was his landlord? others the socialists? others the criminal underground? Nonetheless, this young nazi became a martyr. His death inspired much more violence. More propaganda, more violence.
Moments of silence throughout the USA.
I write all day, looking at the day and the world, people dropping in and out, coming to say hi. friends from afar on their way to brooklyn
September 13th
I write a few blurbs for books
“Years and years and years ago, one of my clients was a young blond woman in her early 20’s who grew up in the suburbs of San Francisco. Each day, she told me about the losses she was enduring daily living with HIV/AIDS. One day, she told me she could not ride her bike anymore. It was too tiring. ‘I can’t ride my bike anymore,’ she repeated, tears welling up in her eyes. Every day, she came home from her appointments and went to bed to nap. Until finally, she didn’t get up. “I don't know how to say this, but M died,” one of her friends told me. That was two, maybe three years before highly active anti-retroviral therapy, that brought a sort of Lazarus Syndrome to the people I knew, who I worked with in San Francisco. I can imagine M riding her bike again, with that smile that disappeared. With Unstoppable: Straight Women on the AIDS Frontlines, Victoria Noe reminds us, all sorts of women, straight and gay, queer people, sex workers, people from everywhere, from all walks of life were impacted by the AIDS carnage. They were leaders, they were friends, many erased; they were active, were impacted, and fought back against the AIDS carnage. It’s worthwhile to remember their contributions.
“Reading Thick as My Noodles, Bok Choy of My Soul, sometimes one poem reminds you of everything, one story, one body in space, walking through a city, hoping for something. For a short while I lived in Chicago, walking, looking for something, losing everything, finding a city of characters, flop houses, trains, blues lounges and leather bars. I learned about sexologist Alred Kinsey’s explorations of prisons, queers in jail, locked up, in and out of the underworld. When Kinsey conducted research in Chicago in 1939 and 1940, he found that queer life was far more expansive than understood, the world more diverse, much like gall wasps he collected as a young entomologist, that assumptions of sexuality needed to be more tolerant and less judgmental. Chicago was a critical location for the study of queer lives, reminding us that notions of “normal” and "abnormal" sexual behavior missed the mark. I can only imagine what would have happened if he’d come across the boisterous, heartwarming, comradely poems of Shan Shan Song, who locates Chicago at the center of their queer imagination. This is a poetry of a city, a space for lovers and mental health breakdowns, for polyamory and wrestling practice, social work and trauma. Born in Worcester, MA, “where Emma Goldman had her ice cream shop,” Shan Shan Song’s story is a city, Chinese-American, neurodivergent, trans anonymous, of songwriting, community organizing, petting cats, making new recipes for polycules and singing. Dive in and discover a cosmos.
In the meantime,
Cherie and the other activists with Rise and Resist report on the $10 million worth of contraceptives Trump is said to be destroying. Says Cherie:
“They didn’t destroy the contraceptives (yet) but they did redefine them as abortifacients. All part of their plan to make contraception, not just abortion, illegal. As usual, Jessica Valenti does a great job explaining: https://open.substack.com/pub/jessica/p/trump-birth-control-abortion?r=27vlj&utm_medium=ios
On Fri, Sep 12, 2025 at 2:35 PM Wendy writes:
The antis are dedicating their protest to Charlie Kirk tomorrow and will have a police escort. It would help to have a bigger clinic defense crowd than we’ve had lately. If anyone can come it’s in Brooklyn at 44 Court Street at 8:30 AM.
Saturday morning, I rode out and joined the clinic defenders on court street.
clinic defense on a saturday morning. abortion is healthcare. Healthcare is a right!
Saturday, the Guardian reports UC Berkeley is giving up names of suspicious faculty:
"“We have a right to know the charges against us, to know who has made the charges and to review them and defend ourselves,” they said. “But none of that has happened, which is why we’re in Kafka-land … It is an enormous breach of trust.”
"Butler said they were told that the university’s normal procedures for handling complaints had been suspended, which has seemingly stripped faculty of their rights to respond to claims or get basic information about the inquiries: “That means allegations sent to the administration, even anonymous ones, were simply forwarded without having been adjudicated … We don’t know whether we ourselves have been accused of antisemitism or whether our name is simply associated with an allegation.”
"UC Berkeley’s counsel declined to share with Butler the contents of the files sent to the Trump administration, they said. With the materials now in the hands of the federal government, the disclosures raised concerns about violations of sixth amendment rights for people to know charges against them, they added."
13 September
Woke up early, read all morning. out to 44 court for clinic defense. more reading, out to the anarchist bookfair in at la plaza cultural community garden, to village works to say hi to alley the cat, back to Brooklyn, through Prospect Park, to 107 E 3rd St for a memorial, back to prospect park with the gang, enjoying the sunshine, to a party next door, where we sang led zeppelin songs, to public records for more dancing... New York fall in motion.
It's hard to enjoy it with so much suffering.
Still, we spend all day out, this beautiful fall.
See you at Poetry this Saturday.
“No one wants to see that kind of violence in America, unfortunately, becoming far too normal,” says Mehdi, “but the fallout a week later, wow, we are in a very dark place.”
