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.

Letters About Ed Galing

Mr. Holder,

As my uncle Ed will tell you, we reserve a special word in Yiddish for people like you: “Mensch” (true gentleman, honorable, caring, and ethical).

My uncle just sent me a note that you had personally developed a web blog (www.edgaling.blogspot.com) for his poetry works.

I viewed it and commend you for your work…and for your support of the morale and artistic ability of this DEAR man of 89 years (almost 90).

Ed was married to the (deceased) sister (Esther) of my mother (Zelda – aged 85).

As I child, I grew up seeing the ‘pain’ in my uncles eyes that he did not pursue a career much like yours…journalism, poetry and the rest.

He surely had the ‘urge’, but not he opportunity…as many in his post-war era – just happy that they could, at least, make a living for their family.

I remember his often saying “I would have…could have…AND….. SHOULD have….(pursued my dreams)”

Those were words of inspiration to me (though he never knew it) because I said to myself (seeing his pain…even though I was a child) that I would never let myself be in a position to say those words.

So, at the age of 55 (always wanting to be a singer), I began to take voice lessons from professional singers/coaches (mostly operatic).

The results can be seen/heard on my website: www.StanSimkinsSings.com

I KNOW that G-d meant for me to sing professionally because how can you explain that I would have had the opportunity to be the opening act for a rock-and-roll group that I saw “live” in 1956. Who would expect to do that at the age of almost 62. I had the PRIVILEGE on April 15, 2006 to be the opening act in Las Vegas (Rampart Casino) for The Comets (formerly “Bill Haley and The Comets” – who sang, Shake Rattle and Roll; Rock Around the Clock). The members of that ORIGINAL group ranged from 72 - 82 years (with only one substitution, on guitar, aged 62). Talk about NOSTALGIA!!

I am singing at hotels, restaurants (doing dinner shows) and am beginning to expand out --- just a matter of more marketing…and plan for this to be my ‘retirement job’ when I decide to finally give up my consulting practice.

The point of my message isn’t really meant to be about me, but about my uncle --- whose poetry, HOPEFULLY, touches the hearts of his readers… and perhaps inspires them AS HE DID TO ME.

Keep up the GREAT work you do. Though there are many who may not tell you, I am SURE they are thinking it.

Stan Simkins

Sample Poems from "The Tower of Babel"

TOWER OF BABEL

strange voices
not from biblical days...

these are the days
of incessant
voices on television
all day long

telling you that
nothing is good
anymore

i get up
at four or five
in the morning
just to listen
to these babblers

with smiling
faces
handsome men and
women

telling us the
news of the day

and each day
how many died
the accidents on
the highway

the warmongers
planning the
final Valhalla

followed by the
weatherman
or lady

it was better
in the old
days.

Small Press Review: Buying A Suit On Essex Street

Review of Ed Galing's " Buying A Suit on Essex Steet" in The Small Press Review Nov-Dec. 2006

Ed Galing, 88 is a historian of New York's Lower East Side in the days of pushcarts and of tenements packed with poor Jews and other immigrants-- Emma Lazarus: " tired and poor...wretched refuse" and Mike Gold's "Jews without money." According to Galing, his family, fit those categories, living on welfare and stifled in a "small iron cage" of an apartment.

Galing writes about his poverty-thwarted childhood in a clear style, short lines, and brief stanzas, aptly set in Arial bold by Dave Roskos, the proprietor of Inquity Press. The cover bears a photo of Galing in fedora and black-double-breasted overcoat about 50 years ago, and the back cover shows old Ed in an open sports shirt. In both photos he is smiling, broadly on the front cover, world-wisely on the back. He's a survivor: at his most bitter he writes: "fuck humanity," at his most hopeful, he says: "god bless."

Today his Essex Street Neighborhood is being gentrified, with large apartment towers rising amid the dwindling number of tenements. The clothier where he bought the suit of the title is long gone, like most of the other small buisnesses that served his family and later drew bargain hunters to the Lower East Side. All that remains are the memories and words of Ed Galing in the many small press venues that have published him.

George Held.