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Monday, November 8, 2010

Iron Train

(Paris Café, 1924, by Eugène Atget, 1857-1927, French

“At first I was afraid of going to places where H. and I had been happy — our favorite pub, our favorite wood,” wrote C. S. Lewis in his book A Grief Observed. “But I decided to do it at once — like sending a pilot up again as soon as possible after he’s had a crash. Unexpectedly, it makes no difference. Her absence is no more emphatic in those places than anywhere else. It’s not local at all. . . . Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.”


The train stopped at a little station
and for a moment stood absolutely still.
The doors slammed, gravel crunched underfoot,
someone said goodbye forever,

a glove dropped, the sun dimmed,
the doors slammed again, even louder,
and the iron train set off slowly
and vanished in the fog like the nineteenth century.

~ Adam Zagajewski, born 1945, Polish poet who now teaches in the U.S.


kiki latimer said...

This poem reminded me of the final scene in the film "Dr. Zhivago."

Anonymous said...

This is a wonderful blog--I went online to find images for favorite poems I teach at the high school level. You are giving me many ideas, and I will continue reading! Janis, Yucca Valley, CA--