The train moves slowly coming out of the city, passing landscape dark and industrial, cluttered and crumbling with the sort of disrepair two or three generations of civic neglect can take on century-old buildings, now lit only by the light of a moon fading into the first glow of an early morning sunrise. From where I am I can make out figures gathered around a smoldering fifty-gallon drum, rubbing their hands to catch the heat of dying embers, and looking ever so much like those groups you might see gathered around an office water cooler, sharing stories about last night's whatever it was, these squatters, down-and-outters, drunks and surly teens, those who see things that aren't there and others who've seen too much of what is, people without homes or families and others seeking freedom from homes or families or those who find their thrill in escaping the tedium of the steady march from people and places they don't want toward other people and places they won't want—the job, the marriage, the children, the lover—moving out of the nothing they find in one space and into the nothing offered by another, as if the moving itself made all the difference in the world.
Oh how I wish I were like that train, maybe brighter surrounds, I'll concede. But unattached to passing events and outcome. I'm working on it. Great analogy and prose style, Paul. Freedom runs right through the piece.
'the job, the marriage, the children, the lover—moving out of the nothing they find in one space and into the nothing offered by another, as if the moving itself made all the difference in the world' . Big line! ⚡
Once homeless were hobos with bandanas holding belongings on end of a stick. Transportation was an empty train car going anywhere.
Today graffiti paint plastered on walls, but hot dog in a stick still warmed by fireside. Got to capture the times. We see much pass by, but never talk much to the unwashed seen from the train ride window as we head towards our unknown destination.
Thank you. I try to write every day, Cynthia, which is not to say that I finish something every day, but what I don’t finish today I will finish one day since I try to write every day.
Loved this line “those who see things that aren't there and others who've seen too much of what is”
It is so clear in conveying the mix of people who have to live this unhoused life. I met many of them when I worked on an inpatient unit. The locked doors kept people in very well, and the same doors also made them feel safe by what was kept out.
Yes, Teyani! I’m happy that line resonated with you and your experience. It also presents an alternative to the idea that many of the unhoused are plagued with mental issues, are just “seeing things that aren’t there” when maybe they’ve seen much more than we believe.
Paul when I see the homeless and those that have been forgotten and almost literally thrown away in our society. It breaks my heart. Your poem really addresses the issue.
The voice observes the landscape with a certain vantage point. The bigger, broader picture. If we disembarked we could discern greater detail. Individuals. On the right track. Martin mentions your range. You have an admirable range, Paul.
I’m always hazy about who is better off: those who see things from the train or those gathered around the fifty-gallon drum. Thank you for your thoughts, rena—much appreciated!
I visit my neighbors around the fifty gal drum and we share pizza and coffee and donuts and a bit of street gossip. And we laugh even when there doesn't seem to be much to laugh for.
Have we taken a sudden turn into the urban, industrial landscapes of writers like Philip Larkin - or a world not too dissimilar? It seems so, and your poetic range, Paul, continues to surprise me. I especially like that last stanza and the suggestion that we haven't a clue where we are ultimately heading - that we are simply moving through a vast 'wilderness of spirit'.
Thank you for restacking this, @Geraldine A. V. Hughes.
Oh how I wish I were like that train, maybe brighter surrounds, I'll concede. But unattached to passing events and outcome. I'm working on it. Great analogy and prose style, Paul. Freedom runs right through the piece.
Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts on this, Siodhna, for taking the time. I appreciate it!
'the job, the marriage, the children, the lover—moving out of the nothing they find in one space and into the nothing offered by another, as if the moving itself made all the difference in the world' . Big line! ⚡
So many Big Lines!
Thank you for reading and commenting, Elizabeth!
I agree, and I rather liked writing it, though it didn’t come when I wrote this initially.
Once homeless were hobos with bandanas holding belongings on end of a stick. Transportation was an empty train car going anywhere.
Today graffiti paint plastered on walls, but hot dog in a stick still warmed by fireside. Got to capture the times. We see much pass by, but never talk much to the unwashed seen from the train ride window as we head towards our unknown destination.
And some who watch the train pass by are happy and others wonder why they missed it.
It’s a tale told round the fire. Never gets old, maybe some one gets wiser.
A most thoughtful ride. Thanks, Paul. You write so much. Do they just pour out day after day? I'm so intrigued by how much you write.
Thank you. I try to write every day, Cynthia, which is not to say that I finish something every day, but what I don’t finish today I will finish one day since I try to write every day.
Keep it up!
Loved this line “those who see things that aren't there and others who've seen too much of what is”
It is so clear in conveying the mix of people who have to live this unhoused life. I met many of them when I worked on an inpatient unit. The locked doors kept people in very well, and the same doors also made them feel safe by what was kept out.
Yes, Teyani! I’m happy that line resonated with you and your experience. It also presents an alternative to the idea that many of the unhoused are plagued with mental issues, are just “seeing things that aren’t there” when maybe they’ve seen much more than we believe.
Paul when I see the homeless and those that have been forgotten and almost literally thrown away in our society. It breaks my heart. Your poem really addresses the issue.
https://wittenberger.substack.com/p/christmas-eve-avenue-a
The voice observes the landscape with a certain vantage point. The bigger, broader picture. If we disembarked we could discern greater detail. Individuals. On the right track. Martin mentions your range. You have an admirable range, Paul.
I’m always hazy about who is better off: those who see things from the train or those gathered around the fifty-gallon drum. Thank you for your thoughts, rena—much appreciated!
I visit my neighbors around the fifty gal drum and we share pizza and coffee and donuts and a bit of street gossip. And we laugh even when there doesn't seem to be much to laugh for.
I manage to laugh—at myself mostly, sometimes at others, rarely with anyone.
😔
Paul, this is the train I took every morning for years…
Great observations.
Thanks, Paul. This was so good to read.
Thanks, Kevin—Always good to see you here! 😊
That train could be travelling in so many places, at so many times in our history. Those running around have never stood still.
Reminds me of a 70s Lynard Skynard song, 🎶 Tuesday’s Gone. Remember that one, Paul? They don’t play ‘em like that anymore.
“My baby’s gone with the wind”
This is so powerful, Paul.
Thank you, LeeAnn. Can you tell me whether the speaker is watching from the train or watching the train as it passes?
I read it as the speaker watching the train.
Thanks. LeeAnn!
Evoked feelings and images of leaving out of Chicago today passing on through the South Side.
I like that pattern of that short essay, a lot of duality considered from so many different points of view. Bravo Paul.
Thank you, Wes.
I can feel and hear and smell that train 😊
Thank you for being there, Simone, and for being here!
Yes!
Have we taken a sudden turn into the urban, industrial landscapes of writers like Philip Larkin - or a world not too dissimilar? It seems so, and your poetic range, Paul, continues to surprise me. I especially like that last stanza and the suggestion that we haven't a clue where we are ultimately heading - that we are simply moving through a vast 'wilderness of spirit'.
Absolutely Brilliant!
Thank you for reading, Elizabeth, and for commenting!