Woman's poem to be displayed on RIPTA buses
PAWTUCKET — State Poet Laureate Tina Cane has selected a Pawtucket woman’s poem to be displayed on digital boards on Rhode Island Public Transit Authority buses in January.
The poem, “Ghazal Howl in Pawtucket,” is an homage to Allen Ginsberg’s 1956 poem “Howl” written as a ghazal — a traditional style of poetry originating in the Middle East and popular in India.
The poet, Norma Jenckes, 75, of Pawtucket, said she was happy to have her poem exhibited on Rhode Island’s public buses.
“I feel very good about it,” she said. “It feels almost magical.”
Magical, she said, because the poem begins with a person at a bus stop, and now, the poem will be read by riders on buses throughout the state.
RIPTA and Cane launched the program, Poetry in Motion, RI, over a year ago to introduce poetry into public spaces in urban areas.
“I have thought about doing this for some time, and was inspired by a rider’s query to finally take action,” Cane said in a statement. “This rider’s reaching out, and her desire to take part, is precisely the kind of engagement with art that I had hoped Poetry in Motion, RI would encourage.”
Cane selected Jenckes’ poem from more than 120 submissions sent by 45 Rhode Island residents.
The poem is based on Jenckes as a teenager in Pawtucket in the 1950s. At the time, she admired writers of the Beat Generation, a literary movement that symbolized the counterculture of the 1950s and included writers Ginsberg, William Burroughs and Jack Kerouac.
“I wanted to be a beatnik, but I was this Catholic school girl,” Jenckes said.
She remembered that each day after school, she would pull on a turtleneck, which she kept in her book bag, over her school uniform, style her makeup like the beatniks and hang out at a bus stop in Pawtucket.
“While waiting for the bus, I would also take a smoke from somebody’s cigarette or do something that was forbidden,” she said.
She decided to write the poem as a ghazal after she discovered the ancient form of poetry while living in Amritsar, India, for a year.
The poems are written in pairs of sentences with a repeating refrain. In the case of Jenckes’ poem, the phrase that repeats is, “I am with you in Pawtucket.”
Jenckes, a descendant of Joseph Jenckes, who served as governor of Rhode Island in the early 1700s and built the first foundry in Pawtucket, said that through her poem she hoped to commemorate her hometown and how it looked more than 50 years ago.
“That poem came just out of thinking of Pawtucket, thinking of what was here,” she said. “It’s an homage to Ginsberg and it’s the use of an ancient form, but it’s also an attempt to say something about change in Pawtucket.”
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'Ghazal Howl in Pawtucket'
By Norma Jenckes
I trembled as I sneaked a smoke with O'Dowl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
A leather-jacketed boy with a scowl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
On the Bridge I feared some gossip, who knew my mother, was sitting
spying from the bus, cheek and jowl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
Me standing there: cigarette dangling, blue uniform skirt rolled
thigh high, turtleneck my only cowl, I am with you in in Pawtucket.
Hiding my Catholic school badge, mouth smeared with white lipstick.
Eyes outlined in kohl like a baby owl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
Where is little Lucille, who would skate with me those cold starry nights?
At the Blue Pond we were on the prowl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
Where is Roland — red sweater, white '51 Ford with fairy fringe?
All dazzling smiles, jokes, no scowl. I am with you in Pawtucket.
That boy I met in the Back lots showed me where he dug.
Seeking flints, shard of Indian bowl. I am with you in Pawtucket.
Oh, we married for a while; our son called last night. So where am I?
I read Bronte; heard Heathcliff's yowl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
First and Last Chance walk past Peerless, Shartenberg's, Windsor.
The LeRoy for a late show — one last howl, I am with you in Pawtucket.
Stroll up Broad to Warner's Ballroom, sounds of “Harlem Nocturne.”
Blues sax paints the world, mirror ball rolls, I am with you in Pawtucket.
Speckled light on gingham, your cheek pressed to mine. “This is our song.
Norma, always be our song,” you growl. I am with you in Pawtucket.