Today
Is Yesterday’s Tomorrow
And coming out of the sweets shop she says,
“Mother always said so.”
And looking round the bus stop,
She smiles and answers, “No.”
Out the window, the darkening sky.
As the street lights come on.
“Rain,” she says, as the bus brakes sigh.
“Rain till well past dawn.”
The clouds are purple, grey and white,
The horizon, a turquoise blue.
“Pretty,” she says, “September night.
My favourite month, it’s true.”
Through the city, past trees and lawns,
And hedge-rows in the older part,
The bus it wends her on and on
back to her day’s first start.
She leaves the bus and begins to walk
To her house at the end of the row.
“You’ll come up now, we’ll need to talk.
There’s all that’s left to know.”
She turns the lock and steps inside.
On a table by a mirror,
She lays her purse, her keys, her pride,
And waits for what comes nearer.
I THOUGHT ABOUT ALL THE LONELY PEOPLE WHO go
through their lives, day in and day out; taking the same bus or drive at the
same time, to the same job—you know the drill. And I was thinking of people who
live alone, with few relationships, who may have no family or have lost contact
with them. I think I noticed the sky, and it was one of those complex weaving
of grey and purple, blue and white in the clouds on an early evening in fall,
much like the clouds noticed by the speaker. She’s come out of a "sweets
shop" (I liked the innocent, old-fashioned sound of that) and—look
out!—she seems to be talking to herself, or at least no one seems to be
answering her. She muses aloud (presumably) about something her mother once
said to her. What is the other half of the conversation? Why does she recall it
now? What does she see at the bus stop that makes her smile? Why does she reply
to this memory with a “No”? Does something at the bus stop make her answer in
this manner or was it part of the conversation she recalls. Is her smile
genuine, or perhaps rueful? (When people don’t or can’t communicate, there will
always be more questions than answers.)
I had
the image of a small town in mind and this young woman leading her life at a
remove from others. She is friendly, a good neighbour; she works, she has a
daily routine, yet she seems utterly alone in spite of being on a bus, which
presumably has other passengers. (Gee-whiz, am I talking about the tsunami of
anomie, loneliness and ennui that is flooding across our modern world? Quick!
Where’s my Facebook! I have
14,000,000 new friends who like me!) She watches as the day changes into
night; she watches her day passing by.
She observes her world; she has preferences and feelings about it. With whom will she share them? Who will know that September is her favourite month? (Full disclosure: It’s my favourite month, as well.)
She observes her world; she has preferences and feelings about it. With whom will she share them? Who will know that September is her favourite month? (Full disclosure: It’s my favourite month, as well.)
Is she
speaking with someone on the bus or when she walks along the sidewalk to her
house? Is someone with her? Why didn’t the author put in any corresponding dialogue?
(Wait…that’s me; sorry about that.) Is she talking to a six foot invisible
rabbit?* Is she ‘rehearsing’ a conversation she may have in the future, or is
she coping with her loneliness in the only way she knows? She seems invisible,
like a ghost, going about her days alone. Interestingly, no other people are
described in the poem, adding to her sense of isolation. We know they
must be there at the bus stop or on the bus. But perhaps they are invisible
because she is invisible. When connections are lost, those ties that bind us
one to the other wither and fall away; relationships decay, names and
faces and events fade from memory; something is lost in the gulf of silence
that so often exists between people. It is not just the young woman who has
been 'cast adrift'. In a sense, it is all those with whom she had connections,
for they fade, are diminished, and will eventually disappear by the loosening
of those ties that bind us.
Inside her house, she waits for something (for someone?) to come near. Is her desire for this to happen enough? She lays aside her daily routines—her purse and keys, and significantly, her pride, and stands in the front hallway, expectantly. There is the sense that she is open to change, that she is aware she needs something, and whether she will continue to live as a ghost or otherwise is a question still to be answered.**
Inside her house, she waits for something (for someone?) to come near. Is her desire for this to happen enough? She lays aside her daily routines—her purse and keys, and significantly, her pride, and stands in the front hallway, expectantly. There is the sense that she is open to change, that she is aware she needs something, and whether she will continue to live as a ghost or otherwise is a question still to be answered.**
I wrote
about a life unshared, perhaps because that’s how I felt a few years ago, and
how I still feel, if truth be told. I don’t know, to me the poem seems to be a
simple statement about loneliness, and maybe that’s all it needs to be right
now.
*Come on
people! It’s a movie reference—Jimmy Stewart in the 1950 classic, “Harvey”, and
in glorious black and white!
I
INCLUDE A LINK TO A SONG I know I listened to at some point when I was writing this:
1966’s “Bus Stop” by the Hollies.
It’s still groovy.
** A movie that I found rewarding
to watch is 1985's Turtle Diary, staring Sir Ben Kingsley and Glenda
Jackson (and check the writing credits!). It about relationships, despair, hope
and personal triumph, with a quirky plot that works wonderfully. There is one
character in the movie who cannot bridge the distance between herself and
others, and she reminds me of the young woman in my poem. In the movie, she gives
into her despair, but the poem's young woman still has a chance to change her
life, I think.
The YouTube link for Turtle Diary is here:
The YouTube link for Turtle Diary is here:
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