Lloyd Mangal, Poet

When I see someone panhandling, or simply sitting there, obviously homeless, my usual response is no response at all. I stare straight ahead and direct all my energy to reaching a point further along the sidewalk. I pretend there is no hand outstretched, no voice asking if I can spare some change. On the odd occasion that I do acknowledge a panhandler’s existence, it’s as a member of a category. The Homeless. Capital letters. The category is a kind of evasion.

When I see someone panhandling, or simply sitting there, obviously homeless, and I have a camera in my hand, my usual response is something like: “Look at the photographic opportunity” or “Isn’t this visually interesting” or (if I’m struck by a sudden liberal sentiment) “Here’s a chance for me to document homelessness in the city.” In photographic terms, I commit the same kind of evasion as when I consign people to a category. I look, but I don’t see. Like the eye, the camera looks; it’s the heart that sees.

Here is a photograph of Lloyd Mangal. Lloyd is a poet. If I were to look at him as a member of a category, I might say he’s one of The Homeless. But I’ve learned to think of him as a poet.

I’m a relative newcomer to a small spiritual community. It doesn’t hold property, and is committed to social activism & general shit-disturbing. It leases space in Trinity-St. Paul United Church on Bloor west of Spadina. A lot of people drifted in and out of the building. When I first saw Lloyd, I assumed he was one of those people who drift in and out. Maybe he showed up for the food. I expected him to disappear when he’d had his fill. These are the sort of conclusions I draw when I look but don’t see. It turns out Lloyd has a long-standing relationship with the community.

The next time I saw Lloyd, he was carrying a plastic bag. It was full of chapbooks. He’s written a poetry chapbook, Urban Emanations, and he sells it for $5, though sometimes people will give him more. To date, he’s sold more than 4,000 copies. Joe Fiorito has written about Lloyd (and his poetry) for the Toronto Star. As Mr. Fiorito points out, two copies gets Lloyd a bed for the night at the Maxwell Meighan Salvation Army Shelter. Lloyd has also used some of the money to pay for dental work and to buy fresh produce. One of his complaints about food banks is that you can’t get fresh produce there. I guess you could say that, for Lloyd, there is a clear connection between poetry and good health. There’s also a clear connection between poetry and dignity, not just because it earns Lloyd a little extra cash, but because it becomes a way for people to see him. He is a person who thinks and feels, who has depth and a spiritual life.

Excerpts from Urban Emanations:

Your flower garden delights my eye
Soothes and eases my troubled mind
More than consolatory it charms and buoys me up
Wispy essences that counterpoint
The lingering effluence of carbon monoxide
A stark contrast to the recalcitrant cement
Pervasive in the city’s centre
It becomes my secret haven
Unique amid standard structures
Cement blocks quadrangles of glass and street
That dwarf the human spirit

(from Your Flower Garden (for Inge))

You took your stand, your refusal to conform.
Many winter storms and summer suns
Have grizzled your features and your skin
Is now burnished as leather
Your undaunted spirit forges oneness.

(from For Gil (The Original Panhandler))

I am not obliged to compress every moment into an achievement
Or mesmerize the neighbourhood with spectacular feats
Times are dull, times are enhanced and momentous
It’s a pleasure to prepare a meal
Rather than have one served up
A long walk even in adverse conditions
Beats enrolment at the gym or aerobic classes
When I am involved in an activity
I infuse it with the stamp of my personality
These hands are a precious utility, an endowment
Useful to fashion my world, my life.

(from Primary)