Between Stations

(Cheryl Garner, 2013)

 

I sit between points A and B,

And watch the rooks begin to roll,

Across the fields, all scattered leaves.

We pass them by, they fill my mind,

 

With thoughts of wings and freer things.

We journey by the forest track

And see the beech and maple turn,

With golden branches trailed in shade.

 

And yesterday will come again,

With all the love and hope alive,

And none of this will then have been,

And we would take a different train.

 

I sit between points A and B,

I close my eyes and feel life pass.

 

Journal Entry – 15/11/1998

The train is quiet on the morning. In the evening it is noisier – full off chatter. I wish I didn’t know the reason for this.

The fields are full of birds today… rooks, a few magpies, starlings in gangs. The starlings are gathering for the winter. They will probably head off into one of those enormous roosts sometime soon. The fight out there will soon become deadly serious. We are all aware of it.

I’m not sure what music I would listen to today – if I could. For once in my life, music would not make a difference. It’s not going to change things.

 

Photography by Cheryl Garner (2013)

Poetry by thecheesewolf (2013)

Train Journal by Gavin Jones (1998)

 

 

Thought

Cheryl Garner 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She had a thought: that sky was true,

That sky was blue as eyes, as deep

As weeping in a loveless home:

Not cold, but crystalline it shone.

 

She had a thought: those lines were meant

As purpose, point and route to run,

Another means to fake escape,

Until the next direction pulled.

 

She had a thought: of someone trapped

As everybody else was trapped,

But who would see her questions asked,

By fists she formed as stations passed.

 

Her music played, the sky was sky,

She had a thought and let it die.

 

Journal Entry (19/11/1998)

Trivial details can release a whole range of associations, if they find a language. Some details, if approached incorrectly, remain stubborn, introverted, secretive. It is not that, of themselves, they are necessarily unconnected, simply that they have not been allowed the space and time and words to become what they could be.

People dream on trains: of escape, of love, of change, of being. They are a means of transport to somewhere else. They are melancholic. We sit and watch the world, move through it in sadness and contemplation. I love you. I feel you coming to me in every breath and somehow everything seems possible. I know you too will pass. That tree by the River Aire has never seemed so lost amongst its roots. I drift and play with time. Suddenly I am on a beach – could it be Brighton in spring? Or maybe it is a beach I have never been to nor ever will. The wind of a distant time blows through my hair. And I will die alone on that beach. Not sad. Not in fear. But alone.

We approach the next station. There is an old man on the platform and a couple with a dog. Only the woman gets on the train. The dog looks puzzled as only dogs can.

 

Photography by Cheryl Garner (2013)

Poetry by thecheesewolf (2013)

Train Journal by Gavin Jones (1998)

 

 

For the Crossing is a video poem for thecheesewolf (aka Gavin Jones)’s poem, the written version of which can be found at:

www.thecheesewolf.wordpress.com

 

the video poem For the Crossing is copyright Gavin Jones 2013