So I'm riding the train to work this morning, and I have to say: the subway can be a wonderful place sometimes. I’m surrounded by people, but I don’t need to make conversation (in fact conversation is tacitly discouraged). People jostle each other, make room for each other, secretly check each other out, ignore each other, read, coast, float. It’s a weird instance of privacy in public. For a few minutes out of their day, people aren’t multi-tasking, taking the bull by the horns, kickin’ ass and taking names; they are swaying with the movement of the tracks, thinking, staring blankly, listening to music, people-watching, taking it all in, working out the meaning of life, or not. Here’s a painting by my friend John Dubrow, whose new show opens today at Lori Bookstein Fine Art on 57th Street in Manhattan:
The painting grew out of a thirty-second sketch that John made while riding the train. Unlike most of his paintings, which get reworked for years, this one came together quickly, with few alterations to the basic composition. It captures the public-private thing I’m talking about.
Of course, the subway can also be a tense place. The downside of people being in their own worlds is that they can be completely inconsiderate to others. I’m afraid I can gat a bit obsessive on this subject. If only that guy would move his bag so that somebody could sit down. (Did his bag pay $2 for a seat on the subway.) And how come, when the electronic announcement encourages people to step all the way into the train, do people stand crowding the doorway. If only they would have a little consideration, that poor slob on the platform could actually get on the train instead of having to wait for the next one. Let people on! Let people off! OK, I need to take a breath. It’s impossible to get through one’s commute without having to make a number of telling ethical and even moral decisions involving the way in which we behave toward others.
The inevitable frustrations of the subway, though, are surprisingly mild, given how many people ride it every day. It rarely gets as bad as this:
*
Subway Seathe
*
What could have been the big to-do
that caused him to push me aside
on that platform? Was a woman who knew
there must be some good even inside
an ass like him on board that train?
Charity? Frances? His last chance
in a ratty srtring of last chances? Jane?
Surely in all of us is some good.
Love thy bloody neighbor, buddy,
lest she shove back. Maybe I should.
It’s probably just some cruddy
downtown interview leading to
a cheap-tie, careerist, dull
cul-de-sac he’s speeding to.
Can he catch up with his soul?
Really, what was the big crisis?
Did he need to know before me
whether the lights searching the crowd’s eyes
were those of our train, or maybe
the train of who he might have been,
the person his own-heart-numbing,
me-shoving anxiety about being
prevents him from ever becoming?
And how has his thoughtlessness defiled
who I was before he shoved me?
How might I be smiling now if he’d smiled,
hanging back, as though he might have loved me?
*
This poem, by J. Allyn Rosser, is from her latest book, Foiled Again, which won this year's New Criterion Prize. Full disclosure: I was on the panel of five judges that chose it. It’s loaded with excellent stuff. Straphangers and other poetry lovers should check it out.
-- D. Y.
Hello,i would like to introduce myself as THE SUBWAY POET! no offense too anyone. I enjoy playing around but i also enjoy drifting into uncharted areas of my mental curiosities. When i ride my subway cars i often dream of ideas which will transcend minds into enchanted creations written with poetic reservation.The poetry which i happen to scroll on subway posters does not touch everyone who takes time to read them.The poetry on the posters are far too complicated to the average person and the irony of it all is that it is only the average person who rides the subway. I often wonder what could have happened to the poetry which we learned as children.It was simple yet soothing, mysterious and magical and enjoyably is enchanting. I only wish that one day i can share this graciously gratifying gift which i feel i was blessed to share. Please allow me this opportunity to share with you this gift.....
Wishing Well.......
AMAZING MY THOUGHTS WHEN REACHING SO FAR,
INTO DEPTHS OF THE OCEAN FROM THE TOP OF A STAR.
DISTANT MY ECHOES FROM LONELY MY CHANT,
MAGNIFICENT MY DAY IF RUBBED FROM A LAMP.
STEADY SHE STARES THIS GLARE FROM THE SKY,
PERIFIAL MY VISION EVENT SHOULD I DIE
SILENT SCREAMS FROM SHADOWS AT SEA,
TRAPPED ARE ITS VOICES UNHEARD TO BE FREE.
WISHING WELL WISHING WELL WHICH WISH SHALL YOU LEND,
I WISH I HAD A MAGIC COIN,
WISHING WISHES NEVER END !
Copywrite by Raoul Jennings
Posted by: Raoul Jennings | December 01, 2008 at 08:54 PM