Greenpoint, October, 2015

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Exit 8A

Courtyard Marriott, South Brunswick, NJ
ORACLE

The cars go by
just like they did
yesterday.

-Tom Clark
Friday, July 13, 2014, 7 A.M.
Does this poem speak to New York subway riders? Is there anyone, anywhere--at least in these United States--who does not immediately go to their own place where the cars go by..., however real, imaginary, or liminal that place may be? Here for the poet's blog post for the poem.
Posted by Be the BQE at 7:41 PM

3 comments:

  1. TCJune 18, 2014 at 7:58 PM

    Far superior than the poet's own rather callow posting. What did he know, then, of coming to consciousness on one's back, eyes full of blood, one ear gone, one side of head hanging off, neck broken, unable to move any part of the organism save the eyeballs, which, after a moment, registered the legend on the side of the large boxy white truck which had mysteriously parked alongside the grotesque remains:

    "Fatal Accident Team"

    I immediately go to my own place, here on the lethal freeway feeder.

    This poem scares me. It didn't used to. Prophecy can be a terrible burden. Remind me never to pick it up again.

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  2. TCSeptember 4, 2014 at 3:23 PM

    Returning to this post and suddenly finding myself able (miraculously, gratefully) to project myself into the eyes of an imaginal New York subway rider, the poem takes on a "whole new meaning", and best of all, I am able to have that experience without ever again having to project person, or appendages thereunto, onto a New York subway.

    But enough about "me". Where is that liminal place?

    Did Carlos Castaneda get off at 125th Street?

    Can we stop off for an egg cream on the way home?

    ReplyDelete
  3. Be the BQESeptember 5, 2014 at 12:47 PM

    Tom, Thanks for returning to this post. I seem to remember responding to your first comment with it's terrible and terrifying connection to your accident. Surely, "Fatal Accident Team" are the last words any traveller would want to see. It gives me pleasure, then, that you are seeing it again as a imaginal subway rider. The egg cream will likely have to be imaginal too as they are almost extinct as far as I can tell.

    The photo shows a slice of secondary highway just off the NJ Turnpike at exit 6A in South Brunswick (near Cranbury). I took it from my hotel room early one morning. It truly feels like a liminal space. Many directions are possible, but no left turn!

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