Our eyes meet from across the train;
Silence comes to the subway tracks.
The many beside us become faceless
in that moment where time exist between us and only us
I can see how many lives we’ve lived
beside each other,
but this time I want to be alone
So I pretend not to know…
Out from the subway
stray bodies and litter greet me.
The course streets,
as if cut cut by stone age hands,
Their jagged lines taunt me
and I imagine I can straighten them
with my mind and brighten them with a thought.
Instead rusted window guards on every house,
even to the second floors, tell me where I am.
This is the land of double bolted steel doors,
empty swings after five and street blues
deep into the morning hours.
The summer sent is not sweet here,
but the heavy musk of fish and butcher shops
bodegas and c towns, all rotting from their garbage bins,
fills the air as thick as fog.
The boys I once knew, all of them
astronauts and would be presidents,
They too recognize me
and in each is the familiar
that can't be bleached.
These streets are more then names
they have a music to them,
bewitching in its melody
like the seduction of a woman
to some they are a sirens song
and others a harpies love note;
but today nostalgia rolls snake eyes.
I walk past the bodega
and into the projects,
to 10th floor - down the hall to grandmas,
but all I can think of is you.
| i have memories because of this...we lived on the fifth floor of an apartment on sedgewick avenue...no elevator...|
and yes, much like this...the way you describe is vivid, yet you have a wonderful economy with words, much like reading a Hemmingway piece..you give us just what is necessary, but you let our minds wander far ...
one change maybe, third stanza first line..."the summer scent"
but this piece definitely makes me want to visit your page more often...and i will...
thanks for taking me back to the streets of NY.
|| Posted on 2011-11-04 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] || Marco, I haven't read your stuff in awhile but I'm glad that it still maintains the power that it had the last time came across it.|
I remember being put in a somewhat similar position and for the lack of a better term, the feeling is beautifully annoying. I really think that you capitalized on that feeling quite well. The mention of details that seem mundane on their own really built this rugged structure that you sort of demolished in the end. But the artwork is not the structure, the artwork was the image of that building collapsing. And for making it so, I'm happy to say that it worked out.
I have this huge cabinet at home where I put the useless stuff that I can't throw away, and my aunt jokes about it being like a bodega. I always promise that I won't put another thing in it... but I've been making that promise since I was a kid. Now I have two of them.
Nice work, Marco. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say welcome back or something but I'm glad I was able to run into you.
|| Posted on 2008-04-17 00:00:00 | by ANGELO | [ Reply to This ] || theres a site called nobodyhere.com and its really time disappearingly brilliant but theres one page on there that i adore and it says something along the lines of|
"imtimacy" means sitting in the warmth accidentally left behind by the beautiful girl who was just sitting opposite me
and thats what i think of when i read the opening stanza [which is my favourite stanza]
i love the refusal to admit or acknowledge her or the lives lived today... i want to be alone so ill pretend i am...
there is power in those lines and the whole stanza sets the last line of the whole piece up very well... the way you bring it back to her... even though you dont want it to come back to her it does... coz thats what life does...
its good to see you post again
|| Posted on 2008-04-17 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ] |