Mactaquac
Going over the Mactaquac Dam.
Only in New Brunswick. What a pity.
Memories
Shunting
Shunting
McAdam Railway Station # 7
So many memories
cling like hobos
to freight trains.
Tracks as always,
sleepers, steel rails
an optical illusion,
joining in the distance
where the miles
between now and then
knit themselves together
and we are young once more,
riding the rails,
dreaming of towns
beyond this town,
dreaming of the future,
not the past.
Comment: This is one of my own memories. We lived by the railway yards in Swansea and again in Cardiff. The trains were a regular part of my dreams. I lay awake one night waiting for the 3:20 to London, but it never came. I couldn’t sleep, waiting for that train. Next day I learned that there had been a railway accident. When I returned to boarding school after the holidays, I would lie awake at night waiting for trains that never arrived. We had a track close to the school, but we called it the Beetle Crusher because it was old and rusty and used so rarely that the beetles, who never knew when it was coming, would get crushed when it arrived. I have written a book about that train and that school, but I have yet to publish it. When I was very young and we travelled to London on the Great Western Railway (GWR) train from Swansea High Street, we had to go up to the engine driver and say ‘hello’. And then we had to thank the engine before we set off. Iron, steam, coal, inanimate to many perhaps, but live living animated beings young children who sat, like our ancestors in Gower caves, and watched the pictures the sea-coal flames painted in the fire.
Volunteers
Volunteers
McAdam Railway Station 6
Only the old in body
and young at heart know
how to cook like this.
The soda fountain stools,
the horseshoe bar
from the old Royal York,
they merit only the best.
Simplicity rules. Stews
like grandma made them,
lining the ribs,
defying damp and cold.
Railway Pie, recipes
a hundred years old, or more.
bread rolls that melt
into the butter knife,
coffee to kill for. No wonder
the old ghosts walk around
feeding off cooking smells,
sad, gentle eyes, watching us
as we eat, refusing to leave.
Comment: That’s the end of the Railway Pie, I’m afraid. The soup has already vanished. Three lucky people, arriving on cooking day, and receiving a free lunch. What joy, what delight. The volunteers were cooking for another event, outside the station, which was not yet open. Old ghosts watched from quiet corners as we ate. I am sure those spirits survive on the wonderful cooking smells that emerge. I should add how impressed I am at the knowledge displayed by the volunteers at McAdam Railway Station. They now only have their facts at their fingertips, but hey are able to express those facts in a way that draws the audience in and makes every visit a genuine pleasure. Volunteers: thank you for being there. You do a great job.
Defenestration
Defenestration
McAdam Railway Station 4
“When I first walked
by that tiny window,
right up there,
on the third floor,
I wanted to go up to it,
to stand there, to look out.
There was a young girl,
went up there one morning,
opened the window,
and threw herself out.
She must have been desperate.
Rejected by her lover,
who knows what state she was in.”
Defenestration?
It’s a funny word,
I had to look it up.
It’s from the Latin:
de means out from,
fenestra is the window,
fenêtre in French.
“She just opened the window
and threw herself out.”
Comment: Geoff, in his role as tour guide, took Clare up to the third floor, showed her this window, and told her the story of the young girl who had jumped out, killing herself in the process. Clare said she was fascinated by the story and felt an urgent desire to stand there, and look out of the window. I am so glad she didn’t feel the need to throw herself out. Oral tradition: I love the way stories are passed from mouth to mouth, changing slightly all the while. Why did the young woman kill herself? Was she pregnant? We can only speculate and I guess we’ll never know for certain.
Call Girl
Call Girl
McAdam Railway Station 1
“She came down from Montreal
to look after all the railway workers.
We called her the Call Girl.”
The men in the room sit up
and pay attention. The women
look rather expectant.
“She was a great worker,
performed her duties willingly.
Up at four in the morning,
out into the streets,
knocking on the men’s doors,
waking them up for work
with her morning call.
We called her the Call Girl
because it was her vocation.
she was called to call.”
Comment:
I visited McAdam Railway Station last week, a Canadian National Heritage Site. The guides who were there, many of them members of the local historical society, were well-versed in tales of the station and the people who used to pass through there. I listened to their words with great care, admiring the quality of their images and speech, the terseness and accuracy of their words. This sequence of poems is based upon those people, excellent guides and raconteurs in the best sense of the word. These are their words, not mine, and with their permission, I am posting their stories here. The first poem was spoken by Elsie. Thank you so much, Elsie, for allowing me to share your words. Click this link to the McAdam Railway Station site if you want to see some great photos and read about the history of the McAdam Railway Station.
In the Cave
In the Cave
(514-520 BC)
one goes on a journey
knows where one’s been
reality returning
one tells what one’s seen
shadows dancing
on night’s silver screen
verbal sketches
from where one’s been
speaking other languages
heard not seen
the more one speaks
the more others think
‘dream’
a dream for those
who’ve never been
where one’s been
Eden 1
Eden 1
(1956 AD)
wet rags of dirty washing
hang on the Siegfried
line’s barbed wire
flesh rent ripped
broken-glass anger bottled
blood-mottled concrete
bones mixer-crushed
blood sacrifice a keep-safe
ash-cross camouflage
stretched sketched
over grime and crime
heavy the spike-toll
rooted the rock
chips off old blocks
these flint flakes flying
faceless this sphinx
inscrutable smile
where now
sands of the Nile
ample ammunition
beneath this apple tree
flat-footed lame-duck walk
goose-stepped after expulsion
walled this garden
to lock what in
to keep who out
Grand Finale
Grand Finale
(Moscow 1812
&
Moncton 2015)
survey the battlefield
muskets primed
three shots a minute
cities burning
hamlets and villages
world-viewed
through a monocle
stand to attention
be-whiskered faces
small narrow minds
wine glasses raised
gay colored uniforms
dazzling decorations
marvelous medals
balloons blooming
gaudy their globules
pins at the ready
no flash but a big bang
glorious martial music
tintinnabulations
church bells ringing
carillon and cannon
magnificent the music
written cryptic
recorded alive
heard played seen
in memory’s mind’s eye
again and again
Macadam: Before & After
Macadam: Before & After
Yesterday, I traveled to Macadam Railway Station to spend a day with two of my friends, Geoff Slater (artist) and Jessi Green (writer). Geoff is painting a mural for the historic building. It depicts an incident from WWI in which Canadian Railway Engineers and troops rebuilt a railway bridge in Northern France that had been destroyed by the enemy. When I arrived in Macadam, Geoff took Jessi and I to see the then current state of his painting (as shown above, Before). After lunch, Jessi and I would discuss sundry writing topics, including when, ho, and what to revise, as well as our various writing projects while Geoff continued with his painting.
On the wall opposite the mural hangs a plaque dedicated to the memory of those Canadian Railway Engineers, probably the best in the world at the time, who made such reconstruction possible. The juxtaposition of mural and plaque make a fitting tribute to the role of the railway in WWI. The Macadam Railway Station is a protected historical site and a work of art in itself . What a pleasure it was to visit there as an invited guest.
This is the dining room and immediately below you will see photos of the beautiful working bureau, over a hundred years old, and the grandmother clock that hangs on the wall beside the bureau.
During the afternoon, we were blessed by the arrival of a train. In many ways, it was a ghost train, hauling with it so many memories of the past when railways ruled and train travel was ubiquitous.
Before leaving, we paid our respects to Geoff’s painting. He had been busy on the top right corner of the mural and had completed the insertion of the military personnel who were working on the new trestle bridge built to replace the one that had been destroyed. All in all, this was a fabulous day in which art, photography, memory, writing, planning all played a part. Some photos to end with: first of all, a selfie entitled Selfie with Coal Scuttle and wow, did that bring back some childhood memories; and then a close up of Geoff’s work for that afternoon Men on the Bridge. I will end by saying that Macadam Railway Station is a ‘must-see’ visit for all train enthusiasts as well as for the train generation who wish to maintain their links with that past.
Night Light
Night Light
(1578 -1591 AD)
quiet now the house
staircase winds up
that wooden hill
to Bedfordshire
down to drop
into darkness
wait in peace
starlight will break
its light-waves
over your eyes
into your heart
owls in the gloom
round eyes gleaming
a who-knows-what
what watches
a godsend now
this light house light
its lightning lightening
enlightening
sudden comfort
this hand on my shoulder
these fingers in my hair
this midnight witch
bewitching
