Simon Zonenblick - Writing and more

Working through some unpublished bird poems for future collections, I have chosen to share the following trio as they are quite apt for the time of year, and I happen to have a photograph appropriate for each. I hope you like them! BULLFINCH With a belly like a bottle of port this birch-basking,  blood-bibbed bird, nut-sucking connoiseur, struts poshly over hedges, plumply patrols herb gardens like a portly Justice-of-the-Peace. LONG TAILED TITS, EARLY MORNING AT THE STATION Notes of mousy music, you bounce the branches of deciduous staves, flip and float, trapezing trees in haphazard dances –   flighty types, brown clowns, impetuous imps, you jump and trick, skip twigs so quick, bob and hop and polka-dot the dawn. DUNNOCK Dusky dove, your pebbly breast a mist-bruised, ash, star-pimpled sky, you tilt a beak, as if fly-catching, slide-fly into a tunnel of tree, and merge into its woody kiss.

By nine or ten, the tensions seem to have eased, and the city seems lulled by a wave of collective relief, now that the voting is over, and the die is cast. There is a pervading sense of calm. Hopefully not the calm before the storm. I see and hear equal levels of support for either candidate, and these cut across all demographics. At Rockerfeller Plaza, the crowds and couples saunter in middle aged ease, well dressed and chipper, like the audience of a classical concert. On Broadway, families mingle. Without wishing to sound unduly mawkish or naive, even at Time Square there are both pro and anti Trump supporters talking civilly.  Someone in a huge bear costume - one half blue Democrat, the other Republican red - is offering "Hugs for Unity," which are keenly taken up.  There is a general sense that Harris is winning - though my optimism is cautious: this, after all, is not Florida or Alaska. This is New York. At Herald Square subway station, an elderly black man sings the s...

St Patrick's Cathedral offers a haven of peace amid the tension, but I'm soon out on the street again, edging my way through the throng towards Wall Street. Most New Yorkers are just going about their business at this early evening hour, though crowds are swelling in Time Square. As darkness falls, the Rockerfeller Centre is illuminated in flourescent red, white and blue.  People of every nationality, not to mention multitudinous Americans, are making it a carnival atmosphere. Skaters swerve to the sounds of Prince and Janet Jackson. The festive spirit is in marked contrast to what is happening a few blocks down. The anti-Israel march is swallowing up all in its path. Some of the posters and slogans are deeply antisemitic. Hard to say how far it relates to the election, as of course they hate both candidates equally. A man in a Captain America costume hogs the crossing, standing in the middle of the road and declaring through his microphone that "Donald J Trump" is ab...

  I wasn’t expecting to like DC. The best I’d imagined was that it would be dull – I’d been told to expect a rather uneventful city without a buzz, inhabited almost entirely by state administrators – while the worst was that in the late days of the most turbulent Presidential election of modern times, the atmosphere would be somewhat, well … turbulent.  I could not have been more wrong.    Washington DC is a splendid city.   Its people are friendly and unthreatening, its transport system is simple, clean and inexpensive. I love its tree lined avenues, dripping in autumnal colour, and reminding me of the suburbs of my own home town. I love its tall 19 th Century terraces, its quiet wine bars and its restaurants – all of which look well above my price range but add an ambience to the city streets at night that makes it feel gently hip and relaxed. I love the historic monuments, the magnificent museums, and the cleanliness of the sidewalks, the languid bends of it...

  My first sight of the Capitol Building – which I take at first glance for the White House - comes through the glass wall of a corridor at Ronald Reagan airport, a far-off conical dome which at this angle looks slightly tilted, like an elaborate teapot sculpted out of chalk.  It is stunningly beautiful. Built by a variety of architects over a period of around three decades, it is a triumph of the Neo-classical, in its way as iconic as the Presidential home its self. Its presence as an emblem of Democracy has taken on a new poignancy since January the 6th, 2021, whose shameful events require no retelling here. I watched the previous US Presidential election from my kitchen in Calderdale, England. I will watch this one in the United States its self - and while my visit to the country was prompted by a variety of personal motivations, prominent among them was the desire to undertake it at this moment in its history - "an immensely consequential moment", as the veteran US politi...

Sunset in Downtown Detroit. Traffic lights blur into soft dots of red. Wind wraps its self around the spire of the Methodist church, all but whistles down Michigan Avenue. The stocky office blocks and chunky, muscular buildings of the USA's North East were built to last in a climate of bitter winds and cruel cold. Almost as soon as I arrived in Detroit, even though the sun was shining, I felt the pelt of hailstones. And yet, refreshing after the sweltering heatwave of California, I like this weather. It is bracing. It gets me moving. It reminds me of home. Hands stuffed into pockets, I push down Shelby Street, shuffle down the sidewalks with no particular destination. The wind picks up. On Washington Boulevard, the street lights melt into a twilight turning purple. The Ford Building rises like a column of snow. I cross a tasteful square, pass a bunch of old men sitting on a bench playing jolly music. A huge block of apartments stands above us, and from half way up a young man gaz...