You are not too much more mature than I, Mister Birmingham Bridge. Your thirty-six years connecting neighborhoods to my 22 is only intimidating due to your size. A green steel bridge among the many yellow bridges of Pittsburgh, even in the dark, you are different. Walking about you came about in an organic way. It started with my move to Uptown. I would go and stand at the Parkway ramp on my street and feel the cars whiz by on the concrete, only sometimes stepping over the brown-gray concrete border onto the thin white line separating myself from the traffic. I could see you from there. The AT&T blue and white sign stared at me endlessly from the other side of the bridge, clipping the hills behind it. I had to twist around like a Twizzler to see all that I wanted to see from this point in the city. Yes, the lights were there, but the buildings were not straight on from my view. I’d turn from Downtown towards you and think, how do I get from here, to you?
The first time I travelled your way I went up Seneca, past Forbes, to Fifth. Then Right. I walked straight: past the bus stops to Moultrie, then to Kirkpatrick, the street opposite you. The rainbow-sparkled Welcome to Uptown sign welcomed me to your corner. (I wonder if anyone ever thinks about how deceiving the cheerful design of that sign is to our now almost ghost town of an area.) I stare at the sign for a long time. It didn’t change, neither did I.
I spent some time taking pictures of the skylights on the hills on the way back, but, on the way there I do nothing but stare and switch my head from side to side, neglecting my clumsiness, undistracted by walking in the harsh wind close to the rail of water below. I never noticed your six lanes, always free of heavy traffic, unlike the Parkway, I only noticed some kind of silence, here, in the middle of the city. I stood at the mid-point of you where you meet the Monongahela where I met the chilliest section of your body. Below, to my left, I see your legs hold the top of you where I stand. I could lay down on those almost hidden parts of you, I could fuck in the wind down there. I’d balance the cold, with the screams, and try not to die. I’m sure you have your own horror stories to tell me.
On my way back home that first time with you I saw a ramp coming from the beginning of you. I decided to check it out. Man, I couldn’t believe it. You let me off at Brady and Forbes, just a block and a half from my house. I didn’t need to walk up to the Uptown sign and over to you. I could start under you, near where the Brady Street Bridge used to be, and end up on top of you, on the walkway instead of the bus lane. Still, easily close to a fall into the rivers you separate me from, but a farther distance from the cars. Your heaviness does not scare me, does mine, you?
Until next time, say hello to the stars for me. You are always closer than I.
Daeja,
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful, lyrical first blog post!
I know you first as a poet and now to see you working and extending your prose muscles is magical.
I know that your thesis manuscript is focusing on your experience to the city of Pittsburgh and in some ways the naturalness within it. I think this piece can work as both a lyrical essay as well as a prose poem. I am in love with the way you treat the bridge as an equal, speaking directly to it without fear or hesitation.
As a reader, I felt like I was with you on your journey across and under the bridge with your rich descriptions and sensory imagery. I followed you on every turn to the point of visualizing in my mind what you were seeing in reality.
I noticed sexual undertones as well as eroticism toward nature and more specifically the Birmingham Bridge alive in this piece. I think that intimacy is something you can really stretch and explore on many different levels. Diane Ackerman’s work also has a kind of sensuality and eroticism running through it, which would be a great reference for you!
There is a bravery and ambitiousness in your tone and content which I appreciate and envy!
Thank you for this lovely read,
Marguerite
I find this initial post startling and surprising, in all the *good* kind of ways. I especially appreciate how you've immediately created the bridge as a character in the story. That works to establish a sense of intimacy, even though it's clear that there will be much more to learn about this place. This could, down the road, work toward becoming a flash lyrical essay as well.
ReplyDeleteDaeja,
ReplyDeleteAlthough you are writing prose, you bring your strengths as a poet into this post. It’s lyrical and immediately I was drawn to how you connected yourself to the bridge in years and size. I also enjoyed that you called out the Birmingham Bridge in the first sentence as if it was an old friend.
You capture this place well and your use of very detailed descriptions have me right there with you. I believe anyone who has never been to Pittsburgh will be able to see clearly the green steel, the lanes free from traffic, and the river below. I want to visit this bridge and see what you see.
An interesting view you took on was bringing personal history into the present. You have this relationship with Birmingham Bridge. You have a past with it. I enjoyed reading those moments where you wrote on your past encounters and experiences with the bridge. Your short paragraph about the first time you encountered the bridge felt intimate and tied in nicely with the sexual undertones you take on.
Since you have placed your history within this place it will be interesting to see in later posts if you bring the present forward. You have a strong start to what I think is a great prose poem.
-Erin