Riding the MTA subways is more like descending into the circles of Hell. You burrow underground into dank, filthy surroundings, ever vigilant of violence or theft. Bereft of a carefree ride, perhaps poetry can soothe the savagery surrounding us. The newest poem to surface inside the subway cars is a poem called HEAVEN by Patrick Phillips (b. Amer. 1970.) Phillips has received the Guggenheim & Nat'l Endowment for the Arts in Poetry & bestowed the Lyric Poetry Award by the Poetry Society of America. His haunting prose reads:
It will be the past
and we will live together.
Not as it was to live
but as it is remembered.
It will be the past.
We'll all go back together.
It will be the past.
And it will last forever.
How very prescient, just as our fares are being hiked again, the old fare of $2.50/ride will cease to be except in memory. The new price increase will surely not last forever, as it will rise again. We may take solace in that we will all endure with this together. AS IF!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Don't be shy, let me know what you think