(This page is in a chaotic state while we re-do things for the release of MetaWrite. Come back after Monday March 23rd.)
In 1965, when I was nineteen, Louisiana was at war with
itself, as some of its citizens marched for the right to just be, while
others struggled with their consciences in a messy reaction to the civil
rights movement. Ultimately, I’m proud to say, Louisiana’s citizens,
black and white, chose the right side of history.
The afternoon before I leave New Orleans, I arrive at the
Maple Leaf minutes after three, the start time of Nancy Harris’s Sunday
readings, but there’s no sign of poetry. For the moment the poets have
joined the football fans.
The Saints are playing the Giants in the Super Dome, it’s All Saints
Day, and the stars are aligned, as they often are for New Orleans,
aiming towards something cosmic.
Katrina was a man-made, not a natural disaster.
If that statement doesn’t fit your comfortable idea of the catastrophe ,
then I direct you to the many articles on the subject, like this one
written on the storm’s fifth anniversary
by Time Magazine.
We had a epic “Sunday Gras”: the Thoth parade
going past our house was three hours of outrageousness.
My kind of parade watching: sit on the sidewalk outside your home
in a comfortable chair with easy access to good drinks and
good food, surrounded by good people.