The Warehouse/ Nursing Home by Ed Galing

Two Poems by Ed galing

The Warehouse

this is my first day in
this nursing home,
my son said, dad,
this is the best place
for you right now,
yeah, sure it is…
just because i had a
small stroke at eighty
he puts me in here…
well, i cant blame him,
he is sixty himself,
works night and day,
he cant take care of
me, specially now…
dad, he says, soon as
you get better, you
can come home with my
wife and meyeah, crap too… it will
never happen…
anyway, now that i am here
in a wheelchair, i have a
roommate next bed, a big
black guy who snores all
the time,
and the hallways are full
of screaming alzheimer
people, and broken down men
and women who each live in
their own hell… i call it a
warehouse for old people,
before we die…
once you get in here you
dont come out…
(they say the food
aint bad here…)


Nursing Blues

you don’t need to go
to hell when you
die
just get sent to
a nursing home
any one
and you will
soon learn what
it is
to die by inches…
the one my sister
in law was in
was the worst i
ever seen,
she laid in a goofy
bed, with a
mattress that blew
up with air,
the nurse came
around to stick
her with a needle,
and to wipe her
ass,
my sister in law
groaned, when
they put her in
her wheelchair,
she was half out of
it, when they took
her into the dining
room to eat with all
those crazy people in
there,
I seen it with my own
eyes,
she has alzheimer’s,
at the table she
fell asleep, and her
face hit the lousy
food they had given
her
god have mercy
the nursing home
don’t

From "The American Dissident" Ed Galing Speaks out!

A Literary Journal of Critical ThinkingIn the Samizdat Tradition of Writing against the MachineA Forum for Examining the Dark Side of the Academic/Literary Industrial Complex
Ed Galing (Hatboro, PA)

Ninety years old, outspoken, hate government bureaucracy, and the namby-pamby sons of bitches destroying our way of life. I am also a Jewish man, who doesn’t care if you like me or not, and a gentle man; just leave me alone, goddamn it. I hate the way day care centers for the very old treat all of us like a bunch of idiots—coloring books, and playing kiddy games. When I was young there was the WPA. Lots of drones worked on this make-believe program. I have written many letters and had a, knock on my door when I was 21, for criticizing the city government. I worked on the writer’s project during the war—another phony job. I have served in the army and navy... got out after 17 years with no pension because the navy shipped me away from home, and made it impossible for me to complete my last few years… I suffered plenty. The whole damn world is run by lunatics. My wife had terminal illness and was in a nursing home after an operation, then in a holistic room in a hospital where they give you 6 months to live (or less). We were married 68 years—2 grown sons, 2 grandchildren, 5 great grandchildren. Once we were all young, and family. Now we’re suffering from old age and death. At this time of my life I’ve written over 50 chaps, been in hundreds of zines—won awards, first prizes, etc.—so what, eh?

Turkish Bath by Ed Galing

Turkish Bath

one of the enjoyments of
jewish life on the lower
east side,
the turkish bath--

there was a saying,
if you could last in
the turkish bath,
you are a real man...

the baths were red hot,
steam coming in the
damp enclosed room, that
turned the room into a dark
cloud,
and you could hardly see
where you were, or who was in
the room with you,

the water was scalding,
but good...
and there were those
wooden benches, we
sat on,
it was called the
Schvitz, and even the
name sounds like something
really hot, as it was,

old men would sit
on the benches naked
maybe a towel around their
middle,

pot bellies, wrinkles
bare feet and
smell of fish,
while the clouds mercifully
surrounded all of us,
and we would talk about the
world,
talk about the old country,
israel, and maybe even a bit
of the talmud was discussed here...

it was cheap... one dollar...
this all means schvitz could make
you or break you..you always
came out of there feeling like
a new man...your sins all washed
away...

Jack's Deli -- Philadelphia, PA.

Jack's Deli


every sunday
jacks jewish deli--
crowd outside the front door;
we all stand in line to get inside;
place is packed,
old men and women,
we are all here, walkers and wheelchairs, canes,
no matter, we all get in,
inside its like the tower of babel,
the deli counter smells from corned beef,
the jewish pickles
fat and briny, tempt us;
the booths,
loaded with widows and widowers,
all talking with their mouths full;
jewish language, and laughter,
a heaven of its own, waitresses
run around filling empty coffee cups;
this is the reason
why jack's deli is so crowded on weekends;
it's not the food,
it's the atmosphere.

The Videograph

THE VIDEOGRAPH

At ten years of age
I was running the
streets of Delancy
and Rivington, a small
boy with lots of vitality
breathing in the smells
of the pushcarts on Orchard Street,
snatching apples from
merchants, thinking: 'they
can't catch me."
And whenever I had a nickel
I would walk over to Houston
Street, because that's
where the Videograph machine was,
by turning a crank on the
side, the figures inside would
move and come alive,
I would crank the machine, peering
into two lenses, laughing
with glee at a man named Ben
Turpin, whose eyes were crossed,
and Marie Dressler, a fat woman
with a big nose, as they hit each
other, and the faster I turned
the crank, the more they moved,
sometimes I got lucky, and
would turn the crank and see
Sheba, the dancing girl, clad
into a tantalizing costume, and
shaking every part of her body,
and smiling as if she enjoyed it,
and I would turn the crank
faster and faster, laughing at how
I could make her shake even more,
and was always sorry when I
had no more nickels.

POOLSIDE by ED GALING

POOLSIDE

*summer in the city in the Lower East Side of New York in the 1920's.

you
who bask
in the warmth

of maimi beach....

swim in gilded
pools
and have someone
bring you the
snacks at poolside--

remember us
those who lived
on the lower east side
and opened up
fire plugs in one
hundred degree weather
screaming as we doused
ourselves with the
flood, until the cops
came to chase us away
and closed the fireplugs,

no one to cool us off
the way you are
no one to bring us mint
juleps, and sit poolside...
I can still feel the heat,
still remember how the
fireplug waters almost
washed me away.

Praise from Writer Laurel Johnson for Ed Galing

This is from Laurel Johnson's Blog:

Poet and cartoonist Ed Galing
A year or so ago, the editor of a poetry journal sent me Ed Galing's chapbooks to review. I was immediately charmed by the man and favorably impressed by the depth of his poetry.Galing is almost 90 years old, a typical American of his generation. He served in World War 2, raised a family, and was married to the same woman for more than six decades. He's wanted to be a writer all his life, but poetry and prose does not put food on the table and pay the bills for most writers so he placed that calling on hold until retirement.Ed Galing has had regional recognition for years. He's the Poet Laureate of Hatboro PA for example. It's only been in recent years that Ed has begun to receive wider recognition. That recognition is long overdue in my opinion. He brings to his poetry and cartoons a lifetime of watching the world around him. He zeroes in on human strengths and foibles as well or better than any poet or artist you can name, living or dead.Ed does not have a computer. All letters and submissions are either hand written or typed on a manual typewriter. The lack of a computer does not hamper him in any way. Many of the best hard copy journals today feature his work.

-- Laurel Johnson is a reviewer for the Midwest Book Review

Poet-Veritas: Ed Galing

Ed Galing: A page on The American Dissident

Ed Galing now has a page on The American Dissident website:




www.theamericandissident.org/Poems-GalingEd.htm.