Skip to main content

New Poem by Alistair Noon

Glad to have a new poem by Berlin-based poet Alistair Noon this Saturday.

Kurswagen

There goes the clanking carriage
in its blue and white livery,
a stretched-out sans-serif,
an image that slices the mild evening,
striking out on a south-east passage.

It leaves from the Healthy Springs,
the system’s northern terminal,
setting off to discover Kiev
once daily. Along its sides
are four tongues in two scripts

that passengers at minor stations,
deaf to the slamming doors,
might catch and select
to name the one-night barracks.
Between the old formations

flies the well-aimed arrow
heading for squeaking beds, busses
in depots for lack of fuel,
monks and tunnels and candles,
and a flag striped blue and yellow.

Tomorrow timetables the change
when moustaches and some decent coughing
knock the Western wheels out,
wielding long hammers
while passengers flip their pages.

A man with a cap uncouples it
in the dark, and like a lunar module
it splits, while drunks and dogs look on,
and the resting crew are nudged
awake by a gentle shunt.

poem by Alistair Noon
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A  poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
Post a Comment
Read more

Poetry vs. Literature

Poetry is, of course, a part of literature. But, increasingly, over the 20th century, it has become marginalised - and, famously, has less of an audience than "before". I think that, when one considers the sort of criticism levelled against Seamus Heaney and "mainstream poetry", by poet-critics like Jeffrey Side , one ought to see the wider context for poetry in the "Anglo-Saxon" world. This phrase was used by one of the UK's leading literary cultural figures, in a private conversation recently, when they spoke eloquently about the supremacy of "Anglo-Saxon novels" and their impressive command of narrative. My heart sank as I listened, for what became clear to me, in a flash, is that nothing has changed since Victorian England (for some in the literary establishment). Britain (now allied to America) and the English language with its marvellous fiction machine, still rule the waves. I personally find this an uncomfortable position - but when ...
15 comments
Read more

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart?  A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional.  Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were.  For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ?  Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets.  But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ?  How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular.  John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se....
3 comments
Read more