Misty
How I love
The darkwave music
Of a sun’s eclipse
You can’t see for cloud
The saxophonist playing ‘Misty’
In the High Street outside Barclays
Accompanied by mating-calls
Sparked off
In a Jaguar alarm
The way you’re always there
Where I’m thinking
Or several beats ahead.
— Ruth Padel
It’s uncanny how I read this poem while in Cairo and yet, felt a strange sense of homeliness with the poetess. Btw, this poem was part of the Poems on the Underground, a series of poetry which appeared in advertising spaces on the tube. Evocative of London as the contributor expressed… no saxophonist, no Jaguar alarm, not even an eclipse… Yet so awfully evocative of solitude and isolation.
shri says:
*sigh* Beautiful!
Yet so awfully evocative of solitude and isolation.
I agree.
August 10, 2004 — 7:22 am
Lakshmi says:
And dusky evenings lit up with sodium lamps with the gold reflected off the puddles on the road.. and a slight nip in the air…
August 10, 2004 — 8:16 am
shri says:
…The cold touches my skin, but my heart feels warm, touched by memories.
Sorry, couldn’t resist. 🙂
August 10, 2004 — 8:21 am
Lakshmi says:
Oh, I am a sucker for sad romances, Shri.. The *parting is such sweet sorrow* sorts.. So, in *my dream*, the memories are lovely and warm but the cold dips into the heart too… not merely the skin.
August 10, 2004 — 9:47 am