While going through some old papers, I came across another sheaf of poetry I wrote back in the days when I'd sit in Afton Station all day without seeing a single visitor. Loneliness does weird things to the mind, and the wail of a train whistle adds to the weirdness.
NIGHT TRAIN
A train can't sneak through a town at night.
I've never lived on this side of the tracks
Or that side, for that matter
But the women who do live trackside
Must know that rumble
Better than the night noises of the men
Who lie beside them.
They can tell time
By the first far-away shimmering growl
And know it's like their lives.
The approach, the climax, and then
The disappearance into the night.
Do they understand this?
Or, for them, is it merely the 3:05
Barely worth a notice,
A roll over and a lullaby back to honest sleep?
4 comments:
Nice of Mike to send the video, it was sweet :o)
Love the poem, too. Nicely atmospheric, sort of melancholy, but trains always make me feel a little melancholy for some reason.
Love the video.
The poem about the train was good. Incidently, a passing train is what got the late, great Les Paul interested in the science of acoustics. Home sick from school one day, and passing train was vibrating his bedroom window. He was curious why.
So, the electric guitar was inspired by a passing train.
Very interesting, Trevor!
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