Comment 1 of 4, added on December 30th, 2004 at 4:52 AM.
grand central station - also a feat of brick-and-cement hewn architecture,
from far before days of styrofoam design - now, a feat of clockworks and
the numbering of trains, and the thought, as if the sun followed the
Gestalten, a plain matter of earnest recognition? a second adjective linked
after the first, a procession of words not merely statistical in assemblage
- a pause, a moment, an expression of considerations more worked-out and
woven than admits the most casual guess, the lance too swift, too jarred in
prying - the pen, also a guidon, the banners trailing such as they were,
there, indeed words, passing along the page.
Grand Central didn't make much sense to me, until - well, until presented a
writer, light hearted, a William, his name like no banner but of a person,
unpretentious the semblance of form - not even supposing a key to the
clocktower, not breaking iron in semblance of echoed disgust, not even
slamming a mallet upon the rail, and not asking trains to strike
end-of-track. Invented: Locomotion.
What things his ideas are made of, I stumble not to guess. A Williams,
Carlos, a William - names and words, and mettle, the page of the poet not
fallen off-rail, the writer not forgetting the value of clay - different
scales than the weight of industrial metronome - not forgotten, even
amidst the place of rails.
What office lands this in, then? Think you a page has a mind of its own?
from United States