53/100: Poetry Slam and Movie Night
This vignette is one in a series of 100 that explores the libraries of New York City.
This series has gotten some new traction over the past week, and this obviously makes me very happy. Not only because it boosts my ego (though it does) but also because a lot of people have shared a lot of beautiful things about libraries and what they mean to them. It’s cool to see there’s so much love for these spaces, and it’s been especially fascinating connecting with library workers, who have shared insights with me that I wouldn’t have otherwise considered. One of those insights is that libraries are prioritizing the connection component of the space over books and silence.
Before the Internet, the library was the ultimate repository of knowledge. If you wanted to learn about something new, your best bet was to ask the librarian, who with her Dewey Decimal skills was the analog equivalent of Google. Now that we have smartphones, libraries and librarians have had to rethink their role in the scheme of things. To do this, it helps to think about why people go to the library these days if not for the books. It can’t just be the free Wi-Fi. There’s more to it than that.
The answer is, I think, human contact: though they’ve long served primarily as archives of information, libraries have shifted their focus to fostering communities, because that’s what people crave most these days. This reorientation of efforts is evident at Jefferson Market Library: at the entrance, a long banquet table greets me, decorated with flyers for upcoming library social gatherings: a poetry reading, movie night, live music, a variety show (examples in photos). There were also photocopies of today’s crossword; I didn’t take one but I appreciated it being there.
Rather than simply provide stories and shelve them, library workers now have to sift through these seas of content, and pick out the ones they deem worthwhile. They are the curators of literature, of arts and culture and aesthetics. They not only tell us where the material is, they use it to bring us together.
Quite frankly, I think I’d go to any of these events. There’s tons of variety and the artwork on the flyers is nice. Poetry readings can go either way, but the films all sound like obscure cult classics that only cool kids know. The West Village cultural crash course, May 2024 edition.
In the top right corner of the movie night flyer is a small graphic that reads Get More Out of Life. I guess it means the kind of “more” you get from choosing niche old movies instead of streaming the latest episode of whatever’s on HBO. Taking advantage of what’s on offer, beyond the obvious, the easy, the everybody-else-is-doing-it. None of the films are notably famous; one is a 1929 silent film featuring Louise Brooks and another one from the 60s is clearly what Aladdin is based on. At present I’m toying with the idea of attending the Hairspray screening on May 13th.
It makes me wonder what movies are playing at my library. It occurs to me that if life were like Parks and Rec, I’d have just discovered the Eagleton Library after only ever knowing the one in Pawnee. It’s gorgeous here: stained glass and stonework and cool antiques and wood paneling, and for the most part, less eccentric patrons. The pre-war, old money aesthetic lends an intimacy that you just can’t achieve in the modern, open concept buildings like the BPL. I try to imagine the giant gold key sitting next to the hand-cranked pencil sharpener in the History Department back home.
But being in this pristine, fantastical library that looks like it belongs on a movie set gives me a newfound appreciation for my dynamic and weird and kooky library back in Brooklyn. It may not be as fancy or well-kept or quiet as the JML, but it’s authentic, it’s itself and it’s perfect the way it is.
I wonder how many people will attend movie night. I wonder if David Bowie downstairs knows about the Louise Brooks screening. He seems like the type to be into silent films. I suppose I could always go and see for myself. May 13th is on the calendar.
Thanks for reading!