Sunday 7 March 2010

Catching the Poetry Bus.

Still troubled by severe back problems, I am not writing my blog at the moment. But I have to put on something for the poetry bus - I can't possibly miss that. So here I am, waiting at the Bus Stop, poem in hand, all ready for Monday morning. A poem about Trains, he said. Well this one is about trains which don't come - but it is an incident which did happen to me five years ago - and one which I often think about and wonder what happened next.

Birmingham New Street.

In ones and twos
they stand among their
tawdry luggage, waiting
for an hour-late train.

From a cold, wet
November funeral, I
join them, bringing the raw wind
with me.

The wind shuffles the day's detritus
along the platform and piles it up in
dirty corners.

Announcements rattle between the
tiled pillars. No-one listens and
nothing moves but the second hand
on the station clock.

A woman standing by my side
tells me she is sixty-three
and going North to meet her lover.
"I have never felt like this before,"
she says.

38 comments:

Bonnie Zieman, M.Ed. said...

I really like this poem Pat. It flows so well and the contrast between coming from a funeral and the dropped comment about a new lease on life that comes from taking a lover ... beautiful.

Jane Moxey said...

Terrific poem, Pat. So sorry to hear about the back problems. I've been missing your lovely blog, but send you all good wishes for some progress with the back!

The Solitary Walker said...

Great final stanza, Pat. Hope you back improves soon.

Totalfeckineejit said...

This awful about your back. Pat, is there ni medical cure known to man? I really hope you feel better soon, it must be unbearable.

Still able to write a fine poem though.Loved the last stanza , such a delightfully incongruous twist.

Anonymous said...

What a wonderful poem, - I love how the positive ending contrasts with the rest.
Sorry your back is still acting up, - I hope it will improve soon.

swiss said...

what they said +1. i really like that ending.

sorry to hear your back's persisting.

Unknown said...

Hello Weaver,

People will say the oddest things to strangers!

I hope your flippin' back improves soon - and that you're taking something for it.

Maggi said...

So sorry to hear that you are suffering so much with your back. I have not-so-fond memories of New Street and your poem certainly reminds me of how shabby it used to be.

Heather said...

I do like your poem Pat and would love to know how things turned out for that woman. I have missed your posts and wondered how you are - so sorry that your back is still troubling you. Keep warm and cosset yourself - hope you get some relief soon.

Rachel Fox said...

A fine slice of life. I like the 'raw wind' especially.
x

Anonymous said...

The mood is palpable, strangers on a platform and time dragging, then the bubbly note at the end. I enjoyed the poem Pat. Here's to better days when your back is less troublesome. I hope you will see an improvement soon.

Tess Kincaid said...

Love the textures of love lost and found. Well done, Pat!

PurestGreen said...

Oh I love the end of the poem, about the woman and her lover.

Hope your back improves soon!

Penny said...

Have missed your posts, living with a 'back' due to falls off horses when young and silly I hope yours is getting better. Keeping on moving is one of the keys, and some one who can do good massage, not too heavy. Love the poem, especially the ending!

Titus said...

Wishing you as well as you can be, Weaver, and I hope your back problems improve soon.

Beautiful poem - very resonant for me, as I know that subterranean station very well - and I too loved the "raw wind" and this stanza in particular,

"Announcements rattle between the
tiled pillars. No-one listens and
nothing moves but the second hand
on the station clock."

which is then followed by that astonishing last one.
Really liked this, fine writing.

Cloudia said...

Hope your back feels better...




Aloha from Hawaii my Friend!


Comfort Spiral

Elisabeth said...

Love and death on a train. This is wonderful, Weaver.

It's good to see you're still at it and writing, despite your back.

My mother remarried at 65 and expressed similar sentiments to your 63 year old. There's hope for us all.

ChrisJ said...

That conjures up many long ago moments, waiting for trains. You've captured it perfectly.

Pure Fiction said...

Wow - I love this!
- that hour late train, the litter and cold of a half-deserted station, and then that brilliant last verse. The whole poem really works for me

Grizz………… said...

Great turn there at the end of your poem.

I've missed your visits and comments, but as one who has daily, and long-term back problems—ranging from mere aching to mildly crippling to agonizing and totally incapacitating—I know exactly what you're going through. I don't think there's anything more painful. Almost always backs require time to strengthen and heal. Mind your doctor and know that while you're sorely missed out here in blogland, your recovery is the first order on everyone's mind. Please take care!

Pondside said...

Weaver, I hope that you are experiencing some relief - sending you wishes for healing.

Dr. Jeanne Iris said...

I love the line, "Nothing moves but the hands on the station clock." A beautiful piece on anticipation, Weaver!

Golden West said...

I like this the absolute best of all your poems! It ends just perfectly, with such clarity - loved it!

Hope you'll feel better soon.

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

I am so sorry about your back. I wish I had some reliable advise to give. I will, however, be thinking of you and saying a prayer for relief!

Amazing poem, as usual. I could clearly see everyone on the platform.

NanU said...

That's certainly an incongruous end - cold, wet, lateness, sadness and all, who even notices when going to meet a lover!
Wonderful.

Caroline Gill said...

Lines 3 and 4 of stanza 2 were particularly evocative and arresting for me.

I feel so much for you, having had two prolapsed back discs myself...

Anonymous said...

captures so beautifully the listlessness of waiting.
thanks for sharing
crazy field mouse

Argent said...

What a smashing poem! Having spent soooo many hours at Bew street, I think you've caught the atmosphere of the place beautifully - and the surprise ending, magic! Wonder if it worked out for her?

Domestic Oub said...

Great poem -

I loved this "The wind shuffles the day's detritus
along the platform and piles it up in
dirty corners." wonderful...

But the end! Excellent :)

Hildred said...

So sorry you are still suffering Weaver, - backs are so tricky and take a long time to heal. Have been missing your blog, - sadly. But glad you caught the poetry bus and with such an evocative contribution. Take care...

Anonymous said...

I think your poem is wonderful Pat. Evocative,and it flows just beautifully. Hope your back is better soon.

Anonymous said...

I love that last stanza, Pat. The cool, dispassionate tone of the poem and then that illuminating final line.

I hope the back eases. What treatment helps?

Denise Burden said...

Sorry to hear about your back - hope you start to feel better soon.
Wonderful poem - LOVE the ending.

Emerging Writer said...

I'm presuming she was feeling happy but maybe she was more bewildered or worried or unsure?

Granny Sue said...

I worried about where you were. I hope the back problems have left you so you can enjoy the coming of Spring, Weaver.

The poem is like a quick glance into a crowded room and catching a sentence that stays in your mind for a long time afterward. I like this slice-of-life kind of poem and the way it bridges death to life, busyness to solitude, movement to stillness.

Cloudia said...

Do hope your back releases you soon.



Aloha my Friend!


Comfort Spiral

BT said...

Pat you really are suffering, aren't you? Jim had a spell like that last year. Do take it easy, I'm sure you are having to - no choice in the matter.

I really love that poem, from the detritis blowing into the corners to the new hope for the older lady. Excellent.

Nishant said...

I hope your flippin' back improves soon - and that you're taking something for it.
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