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Pont Neuf, Paris. Photo by Bruno Mariotti, Flickr. Creative Commons BY-SA 2.0.
LOVE FOR THE CITY
What if each needle prick of acupuncture were a gesture of love for your city? Begin by drawing your city. Draw your neighborhood and mark the people you know. Greet them by name. That’s good acupuncture.
Shop in the markets and places where the owners and families attend to their customers. That’s another nudge of love for your city. Catch the next bus and greet the bus driver, the fare collector, and your neighbors. That’s a point for you. Take a walk and notice the design on the ground, the streetlights, and the itinerary. Another point for you.
Did you hear and recognize the customary sounds of the city? Did you smell the typical odors of a certain region? More points in your favor. Did you ask the owner of the store where you usually shop not to seal the storefront with roll-down steel grates at night, so people can see the merchandise in the shop windows? More points.
Do you have a circle of friends you chat with, a café or a bar that’s your regular spot? Excellent. Do you have your own barber, your newsstand? Even better. Are you a regular customer of the stores and services facing along one street? More points for you. Your eco-clock is less than one. Good.
Do you remember your city the way it used to be, don’t feel the need for junk food, watch a movie in a regular cinema and discuss it later at a restaurant with your friends? Congratulations! You are now a citizen, cured by urban acupuncture.
You’re able to capture the special moments in the life of a city and realize that each city can be better than it is. It’s up to you to become familiar with it and sense what’s best about it, which is solidarity. Then you’ll be able to love people of every city.
Let’s all think about the city.
Me, on my part, I think of…
I think of that darling square on 53rd Street in New York,
so precious
that should be closed
(to avoid being stolen)
I think of the streets and canals of Annecy
a down-home Venice
of the herbage covering the marquee of the Hôtel de Fenice
et des Arts in Venice,
deep in autumn
of the sheltered plazas in New York,
petite and grandiose
at the same time
I think of how fast culture breeds,
pounding and hammering on the walls
of brownstones and skyscrapers
I think of the silhouette of New York
of Koblenz
of Florence
of Jerusalem
a great city must have a silhouette
Rooftops of Bologna, Italy. Photo by Yuri Virovets.
of the color of the cities
ah, the color of Bologna
of Farol da Barra in Salvador
of the gray of Rue Monfettard bleeding through the colors of the market
the color of the sea, seen from the terrace of Amanda’s Bar in San Juan,
the dignity of Via dei Calzaiouli in Florence
the hazy mornings of my gray Curitiba
and walls
I think of the eternity of the walls of Jerusalem
of China
and its valleys
I think of the doors and portals
I think of the solitude of the Place de Furstenberg
A bench, a tree, and a
street lamp
and you, so congenial with the crowd
of people that you care about
and alone with the person you love
I think of the shelters, that the city should be
one great, encompassing shelter
I think of the ombrelones of the Campo de’ Fiori
of the art-nouveau marquee of a building in Paris
of the Vittorio Emanuele Gallery, a veritable cathedral for passers-by
I think of the counters of Rio taverns
of the family grocery shops in Curitiba
I think of the bars and the street corners
of the plazas and patios of Paris
Place Dauphine
Place des Vosges
or the Plaza Mayor in Madrid
where a hand’s breadth of table
is worth a handful of prose
where waiting is more agreeable
making a date with yourself
with yourself and others
to look at a river, like a river in Paris
at canals, as in Venice or Annecy
at the sea in San Juan
at the people passing in the Champs Elysées
at yourself, as you were in the Paraguas Café
in Barcelona
to linger in the bar on a bicycle path in Curitiba
in Gramercy Park
at the window of a bar facing the
Museum of Natural History in Nova York
in the plaza in Sienna
in San Marco Square
in a simple tavern in Rio do Fogo
a few miles from Natal
at twilight in...
