Thursday, October 22, 2009

night frequencies

It seems that most cities with public transit have a program where poetry is displayed as a public service. Melbourne's program is called "Moving Galleries". Today I saw a poem on the train called Night Frequencies, included below. The opening line brought back some memories of how flying into large cities at night was one of my favorite things to do. Every city has a distinct color; Tucson Arizona was a dark bronze and I kind of remember Detroit being blue. One time I had a perfect window seat and flew down the side of Manhattan (obviously long ago). Incredible, really.

The lights in the street
are gold or white or blue.

The primitive grass says nothing
of what’s to come.

Distant cars whisper rumours
of other people’s lives.

A bird starts up then breaks off,
leaving communiqu├ęs to the darkness.

Inside, everything is tidied up,
as after a birthday.

The kitchen hums, while pictures
sleep upon the walls.

The dog is dreaming, silently barking
at the rabbit of morning.

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