These autumn rains, these Hopper blues,

These destinations, stations passed,

These memories which have yet to form,

These tricks which gather up the night.

 

Each isolation – neon stained –

Is captured in its gleaming feint,

Is held, unique, in slow decent:

From state to state, from hope to spent.

 

And you: I wonder how you took

The morning – made it live again,

And glow again (if only once,

If only through electric eyes).

 

You took a crossing point in time,

And found a voice for rain and light.

 

Journal 16/11/1998

Every week day morning, for 34 minutes, the regime of the train. A single distance, a single mind? Pass that new factory, that new hill, that familiar supermarket: a unique aspect at each glance. But what “each glance”? There is only one.

Meeting unexpectedly someone you know. Get on at xxxx station… I know that person… do I…? where the hell from…? It’s (notice the bag she is carrying: Cockburn Street, Edinburgh). But what “each glance”? Face, hair, bags, face. Puzzled expression: mutual. This is not a film: no edits, no frame. Lots of discountings: this is background. I see the station, but concentrate on listening to the person speaking (by staring at her mouth and eyes). I am seeing words form.
The train is going to be late. Work can wait.

 

 

Image by Cheryl Garner (2013)

Poem by thecheesewolf (2013)

Train Journal Entry by Gavin Jones (1998)