Train Leaving

(Cheryl Garner, 2013)

That lost, bewildered look she loved:

So why, today, was he a wreck?

“Forget the night”, she said again.

They fell in drops about her feet,

 

Those heavy tears, they fell inside.

She made her smile for one last time:

It formed a line about her lips

Which wasn’t there the day before.

 

The first he knew she’d walked away,

A rueful cast upon her frown.

So there he stood, alone and cold:

He wished he’d worn a better shirt.

 

He wished he had a clever line.

The platform span and she was gone.

 

Journal Entry (24/11/1998)

The rain is falling heavily today. We’ve had days of frost in the mornings, but today it’s grey and a little misty. The people are mainly huddled under the covers in the station. Even the ones who prefer to be on their own first thing. There is such a loneliness about the place today. I’m writing and my breath is steaming up the window so I can’t see out. Everything seems still (even on the train). I think things might be about to change in some way.

 

Photography by Cheryl Garner (2013)

Poetry by thecheesewolf (2013)

Train Journal by Gavin Jones (1998)

 

platform

Cheryl Garner (2013)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So here I am in hope again,

Between the layers of sleep and thought,

The shade and space and hidden lights,

Between the shifting lines of doubt.

 

I sit in carriage four of five,

And drift through waking depths of dreams.

I wait for certainties of time

To close my eyes, or shake me out.

 

He sits on platform three and stares

Into an emptiness of clouds.

The train – not his – has mirrored glass:

He sees himself – he’s looking old.

 

I watch that world disintegrate:

What could have been and what was not.

 

Journal Entry (17/11/1998)

Writing does strange things with duration. Helene Cixous’ wish to write in the time of life is eminently manageable, if the time of life is flexible enough a concept to cope with the different durations.

Time isn’t all glimpses of magpies from speeding trains. For example, the magpie took about a second to pass from my vision, but at least ten seconds to write about. I’m still thinking about it, still revisiting it. Is it still in my mind? It was sat on a fence post, next to an orange traffic cone, next to a disused sports’ ground. Writing primacies the aspect, lends credence, not to a nounal world view, but to a “significant detail” world view. In the passing time of duration x, we are conscious through many durations. Writing is a stillness, not in contradiction with, but in compliment to, the rush of other durations.

 

Image by Cheryl Garner (2013)

Poem by thecheesewolf (2013)

Train Journal entry by Gavin Jones (1998)