When he got up that morning everything was different:
He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.
And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so deeply.
Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn't walk around crying in that town.
Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.
And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,
He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.
He didn't do anything violent as he had imagined.
He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open.
And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.
- Edward Field
Simply read this one through quietly, a few times, until it sinks in.
If you haven't yet experienced this journey, just wait. One day you will.
MFB,
L
More on contemporary American poet Edward Field on this page at poets.org (what an interesting life he's led in his 88 years!) or in this short NPR story (read and listen to it, because the texts are different and complementary, plus sample an excerpt of his memoir of Bohemian life in NYC, The Man Who Would Marry Susan Sontag...) or on his own website.
Here's an excerpt from another instantly accessible poem of his too. Good stuff, that.
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