1. Exterior
Because the novel’s flat
the crossword cryptic,
the chair too upright for snoozing.
Because you’ve talked to this seatmate
till nothing small is left to say.
The bar car sandwiches
assault French sensibility.
But out the window the landscape flashes,
scene after scene cries
“Look at me! Look at me! Look
at me!”
2. Interior
Because the rhythm in the wheels
seduces the muse from her hiding place
in strangers’ eyes
or fleeting views,
in bell towers or silos,
the names of brick stations.
Because you have time to spend with her,
pen and notebook finally
pulled from the bag,
the rattled mind opened
at breakneck speed.
Author notes
p 96
Comments
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Because the rhythm in the wheels
seduces the muse from her hiding place
these two lines are just beautiful. great imagery...very well done. i really enjoyed it. thank you for sharing.
All the very best and Happy New Year - Sukhdarshan -
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Thank you for visiting, Sukhdarshan. Much respect.
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I like this. Reminds me of Billy Collins poem about trains where he imagined the ground, not the train, moving, creating a surreal image.
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Beautifully done. I tried to do this during a trip from California back to Vancouver but ended up doing too much driving. I would look up from my note book and write about whatever the scene brought to mind.
http://allpoetry.com/poem/2138886
A joy to read.
John -
Interesting.. for some reason this read almost like a 'dead man' poem. Maybe because of all the becauses? I like the way it answers the title .. making it all fit together nice and neatly...
but I'm not sure I like the personalizing of the poet, with her? I'm on a take yourself out of the picture thing.. right now, so ignore me on that.. lol
I love the opening stanza, it's so full of sound ..and image .. and I love the lines that speak of the rhythm.. because I've always found the click clack ..an attractive thing to get lost in, the music of it, and the little invented beats my mind adds to it..
it's like being rocked to sleep .. with all of that scenery begging to be ..memorized somehow. ..
oh there I go again... off on my own little side trip..
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I don't know what's going on with the star-swipe - I keep trying to bump your comment up to 5 stars, but it's not taking. The others before you took . . . grumble grumble.
"Her" is the muse, in this case - not sure if that's what you were referring to. Not that I believe in a personified muse, but it's a useful metaphor.
Thanks so much for your visit today; I've been out of the loop, feeling guilty - and need such a tug to bring me back.
We must chat some time, like we used to.
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psssst..
it does take after one swipe, but it doesn't show until you refresh the page.
And yes we must..
That was what I was refering to, and there's nothing wrong with it, it's just me ..trying to figure out how to write without it.. lol
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Odd, every other comment I swipe, the change shows up without me having to refresh. It simply says "replaced 4 with 5". Yours, I have to refresh. You must be special or something.
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people keep saying I am ..
LOL I have noooo idea
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I Love Rail Trips
You capture the double identity and the multi-times of rail travel very well.
I think Einstein developed the original thoughts on theory of relativity while riding a train.
It is very stimulating.
I have only travelled by rail in the United States, where America moons the rail passenger with her ugly backside most of the time. And I adore the backsides of America, thats where I grew up.
I think the poem might end a little earlier than the writing
but I have also come the conclusion that I don;t know anything about poetry.
Nothing
Nad da,
Peace.
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I too know nothing about poetry. Your nothing seems to help me to see some of the picture, though, so maybe nothing is actually something.
The backside is definitely what we see on most train trips, no matter where (well, maybe in the Canadian Rockies, where backside/frontside, it's all spectacular) - but I figure real life happens there, not in the cosmetic facade of flower-lined streets and stone cathedrals.
Thanks for your comment.
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yes.. this is simply beautiful
"till nothing small is left to say"
I loved this, i really did..
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Thanks, BC, I appreciate the comment.
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wonderful idea, wonderful execution...
al
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I'm rather late responding, Al, but thank you, anyhow.
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Really like this Zaramia.
I wonder how many writers have indeed found a locomotive of creativity on a train ride.
My dream would be a long transatlantic cruise as a venue for the poetry muse.
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I dunno, probably too much to do, or at least too much to eat, on a cruise. And the view? Horizon after flat horizon, outside; inside, dowdy hausfraus and their paunchy husbands. Probably.
Thanks, Ariostopheles. I owe ya big time - haven't read in weeks. Blerg.
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the muse, when one is on the train, merely has found herself a captive audience. planes too. and prison.
i think any unfamiliar place in which one endures a forced solitude, best with windows and unusual sights. also, the rhythmic noise creates a private silence in which one can hear.
a speeding wax museum of contemporary faces, patient, stoic.
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You who writes few poems these day, or rights them or wrights them, writes most poetic[ally] in comments. You could write response poems to my response poems; well, you already did. Insert line breaks, submit. Heh.
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Excellent! It's been so long since I've been on a train...but, yes, there is something inspiring about train rides. Enjoyed!
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Thank you, Rainy one.
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I love it when the muse presents herself so wantonly. I really do. It is when she is coy and playful that I get frustrated... a line here, a phrase there, but nothing to glue them together. Gotta lube the bitch up
This is beautiful, zara, makes me want to take a train ride.
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I'm terribly late in thanking you, but hey, thank you! Don't we all have notebooks filled with excellent single lines? I like to think they're just early arrivals for a distant-future party. Hopefully.
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You think you need "ready to receive" ?
seems the line above it a better punchy way to end poem. maybe.
off to read page 96.
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You're right. I've been too lazy to change it. I will now. New one coming up.
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Well of course the muse lives on trains. That is her abode- the places where the rhythms rush by to vanishing point like in one of those colour wheels that you spin and when it goes fast enough the colours turn white and then focus back in when it slows down, and all the time 'lookatmelookatmelookatme.'
The bell tower silos and brick station stanza is just perfick.
Trains are poetry before it is written down.
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Between you and Ed, I got two poems written in comment form on this piece. Thanks, Stef.
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I have someone in my life that writes train poems for me all the time and they are romantic and beautiful ... like this.
Desiree
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IS THAT YOU?? When did you get the courage to post a piccie?
Lovely to get romantic poems written from trains. Or from anywhere else for that matter. Thanks for dropping by, Desi; I'm sure I owe you a few.
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Yep that's me with my latest butchered haircut.
I put one up every now and then ... then I take them down. -
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Hair!! Thanks for reminding me, I just booked an appt to cut mine - been meaning to for weeks. But this photo - can't really tell what your haircut looks like. I must start hounding Lisa for a photo again. She's been making excuses for years.
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This reminds me of travelling on the Orange Express in Majorca... winding its way to Valldermosa... through the orchards and the sound of the old railway and the lines, the scents the people.. all of this took me back to a most idyllic holiday and loving time
I have a lovely pretend bejewelled notebook which I pretend to scribble "poetry" ... mostly it receives scribbles and scratchings from my brain
my only niggle is breakneck speed... .. as i don't like to think of pain in such a great plume...
i dunno... i'm quite daft
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Yes, darling, you're daft, but that's only part of why I love you. Thanks for dripping, er, dropping by.
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This made me think of all air travel I do and the attempts I make at writing up there. But there's not much to see from 39,000 feet - or else my muse is afraid of flying. And one can only write so many poems about clouds. (Although I did see an interesting phenomenon the last time I was up there, which I started to write about but never finished. I just can't do justice to what I saw). Anyway, I need to try travelling by rail one of these times.
This appeals to all the senses - I can feel the uncomfortable seat and the sway of the train, hear the yadda yadda of the person next to me as well as the clacking of the train on the track, I can smell those godawful sandwiches, and I can see all those unfamiliar sights whiz by as my mind tries to snap pictures.
Your closing metaphorical line is stellar! (the rattled mind opened at breakneck speed, ready to receive).
I enjoyed reading this very much.
Cris
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Yeah, I've started many a poem on planes, too, but the view does tend to be monotonous. The luxury of having to just sit, though - things (poem things) start to come through, don't they? Thank you for your comment - very gratifying.
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wonderful
sheer heaven in words
and yes the trains sounds do that
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This is a dreadfully late thank-you...but, thank you for your kind words.
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