Julia Vinograd, considered Berkeley’s unofficial poet laureate and known to many as the “Bubble Lady,” died Wednesday after struggling. LISTENING TO THE RADIO. I am listening to the radio. I am not listening to the radio. I am listening to the silence in my room behind the radio. I am the radio. JULIA VINOGRAD was born a native of Taurus w/Pisces rising in the coal and corn bread heart of West Virginia, in She writes, “I left school to pursue a.

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We, the eccentric, the lonely, the broken are given a voice. And all this before the first word. I remember Moe’s voice loudly unharmonizing with whatever blues the ceiling was playing.

Everything’s broken from promises to plumbing, it’s not just us anymore. Julia Vinograd Berkeley’s veteran street poet writes of displacement from what was long her home, and of other experiences.

Views Read Edit View history. The wind vinogrwd blow the branches the way he’d wave his arms. We had fast food, fast cars and movies of the slowest kiss in the world, the one that’s still going on but I can’t see it anymore. There were five green marbles.

Julia Vinograd

In a moment that evoked Allen Ginsberg, Vinograd bought some bubble soap and went to Vinogras Avenue to blow bubbles. I held a sparkler, the Statue of Liberty held a torch, I expected my light to grow into hers.

Then the English Teachers get it and it isn’t even a poem any more. She speaks of a suburban childhood with polka dot wallpaper in her room, and a vow she made to herself that once she had her own place it would not be ujlia.

Her eyes are radiation blue.

Handle With Care Author: Studded limp brown leather beginning to show thru black polish. And your thick hands take so long fiddling with a match that wild horses ride out of your bristling black beard.


But instead of spilling it into the gutter he goes to the corner tree and pours it carefully around the roots so that all sides of the tree have an equal chance to breathe in the delicate bouquet. I recall you were also passing out one-page copies of some of your poems to interested passers-by. I can hear the old women selling terrible roses in the chlorine-lit subway. They pause occasionally as the wind pauses in case they give offense: Julia Vinograd I stand vjnograd my window at night And look out.

Thanks so much for this and has truly made my day!

July 1, at 6: When the blood hit the street it fizzed gold. The Daily Californian covers the city of Berkeley and the campus in unparalleled detail, all while training the future of the journalism industry. I thought I knew julia but this piece is revelatory. She was known to generations of Finograd students simply as The Bubble Lady. The tree will stand tall and take on all comers the way the cops are worried he would.

Julia Vinograd from Berkeley Daze, by Richard Denner,

I can hear the young hustlers, their tight jeans glowing in the greedy dark. On the upper left is biker poet Paladin — born Martin Rosenberg indied as Paladin in Berkeley,which includes a poem and reminisces by Julia.

That was the first time I believed there was a war. Buttering the Wind Author: This vihograd, Panic, in response to the panic too many vinnograd us find ourselves in of late, contains a unique depiction of Pan on the cover. TV TV calls to the oldest childhood fantasy: InBerkeley honored Vinograd with a lifetime achievement award. And get angry at us for trying to shush you and then forget and five minutes later want to know what we’re all fussing about.


Even his hangover will vonograd with the ripening fruit.

Those were interesting times to say vinigrad least. Harry Scott Boggs says: She gives voice to the homeless, the street performers, the merchant, the coffee drinker, friends and foes alike, and her words, like a sharp knife, cut deep into the truth. She mulia us as full of life, and love, and heartache. I fell asleep an hour ago and didn’t notice.

I asked what sort of dog I was going to ask about fleas and she said well no, she herself, she did buy it in a shop but it smelled really horrible, please would that do?

Julia Vinograd, the Berkeley poet known as ‘The Bubble Lady’ dies at 75

You’re one of us. American Friends Service Committee. The sign on her forehead says “Restrooms for Customers Only. She lived right viograd Telegraph Avenue, the artery that bled so profusely on May For years you tried to settle down with your true love in an apartment with roses outside the window and a piano you talked about playing, vinogrqd you’re no more housebroken than the two pet cats who pissed in the poetry box and the needle kept calling — “It’s so sad,” you say, your voice caressing sadness the way a woman’s hands stroke a mink coat.

We hold our breath. She became part of the “street culture” of Berkeley beginning in the s, often called a “street poet”. I scuttled around with my mouth and my notebook both open, staring at what I saw and trying to write everything down at once. Selected poems from someone who could “perhaps be called the quintessential street poet”.

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