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CurbedWire: 97th Street Mystery Bulding, Real Estate Poetry

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EAST HARLEM?From the East Harlem/SpaHa starting line, a tipster sends in the above photo and asks, "Got any intel on this huge new (rental?) building on the fringes of the Upper East Side?" No address was included, so it made a quick scan of the archives a bit tough. Looks interesting, though. Anybody care to chime in? [CurbedWire Inbox]

WTC, LINCOLN CENTER, HIGH LINE, EAST VILLAGE, ETC.?So, uh, here's something interesting. A reader writes, "I have attached 3 real estate poems I 'wrote.' The first is a reaction to plans for the World Trade Center site, the second to the impact of star architects Diller & Scofidio and Frank Gehry, and the third to Thom Mayne's new Cooper Union Building (with apologies to William Carlos Williams, Wallace Stevens, and Bob Dylan.)" Tuesday is normally open-mic night, but we'll let is slide.

1. so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside Larry
Silverstein


2.

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In Tully Hall concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers from last month's High Line park.
Let Lincoln Center be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from Diller and Scofidio,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which Frank Gehry embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover his face.
If his horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold he is, and dumb.
Let Atlantic Terminal affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

3.

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last

But that harsh exterior wall, you’d better slice it fast

Yonder stands Thom Mayne with his gun

Crying like a fire in the sun.
Look out the stains are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

The Bowery is for gamblers, better use your feet

Take what you have gathered from poured concrete

The spray-can-toting painter from your streets

Is tagging brutal graffiti on your mesh sheets

Charles Gwathmey, too, is folding cross from you

And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.

All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home

And all your modernist armies, are all going home

The lover who just walked out your door
Has taken the elevator to the 5th and the 8th floor.
McSorley’s, too, is sober under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Leave your steep staircase behind, something calls for you.
Forget the students you've left, they will not follow you.
The New Museum that's rapping at your door
Is tied in the angled ribbon that you once wore.
Strike another match, go start anew
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.