Saturday, September 1, 2012

Not wholly abandoned


Was it the same rasping sky that pressed upon me and squeezed out the last poem? Much of summer there was water all around us but not here; to the north it passed, where mint farmers needed it, and to the south along the Interstate it pushed travelers to the airport or on to the bronze glass buildings and brownfields of Detroit.

But what need does the beautiful, abandoned Michigan Central Station have of rain, for instance? Admittedly she was the tallest rail station in the world, a proud poet of the line. Buildings that are alive need to be watered, as much as soybeans and corn. Rain is essential to their elegant symmetry, and resilience; it balances the sun’s tempering. In the cycle of the skies and waters of the world, what loss and grief if too many days spread without rain tapping or beating on their stone and glass! All living things participate in the giving and taking of water.

But what now, why does Central Station’s empty-socket stare facing Corktown need rain? Like backward tears rain streams through glassless windows. It hums like forgotten streetcars, each drop skittering in and out with the persistence of the thousands of persons daily catching a train in Charlie Chaplin’s day, when Detroit was Paris.

When Detroit was Paris! We who are alive cannot conceive of the possibility. Maybe in this is the answer: Rain waters the memory of life as much as life itself. If one pimple of moss or mold blooms in a dark stone corner of a derelict building, there is hope that life, and poetry, may survive and thrive once again. 

13 comments:

  1. Perhaps, as T.S. Eliot would say, "I am on old man, in a dry month, waiting for rain," but it's a difficult mind stretch for me to imagine that Detroit was once Paris. Perhaps I have given too little of myself to Detroit and too much to Paris (though, on second thought, one can never give too much of oneself to Paris). Preconceptions often lead us to make such mistakes.

    With or without the moss or mold, I personally feel that poetry will survive and thrive, yours and the world's other heartsongs, all of which are as vital as the rain to meaningful existence.

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    1. George, I love that line of Eliot, how perfect, and how sad. Forgive my hyperbole about Detroit and Paris. It's just that there was a time when Detroit was magnificent, and it could have grown into at least a fraction of the cultural center Paris is. Never the history, or art, or ideas, literature or architecture, or any such significance to compare. But it could have been America's Paris, some say. I crave for it to be rejuvenated, at least so people can live vibrant lives there.

      I think Paris is in our hearts, and if we let it sing, we can have it anywhere and anytime, like poetry. There are certain evenings in October when I look out at the meadow, and I see Montmartre at evening.

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    1. Thank you, rosaria! Of course I wrote this while also conscious of the flooded places in the Gulf and elsewhere where rain is not a welcome friend now.

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  3. Interesting thought, that cities need rain as much as fields. That the water of culture is as important to our parched psyches as the water from clouds is to the drought-stricken farmer (though they are getting much more than necessary now; the Gulf states have suffered too much battering). I, too, am saddened that Detroit never reached its full potential, though like George I have a tough time imagining her as Paris. But I cannot conceive of anyplace being Paris that is not Paris...and yet...
    The poetry is returning; it is here, and it is beautiful.

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    1. ds, there are leaps here, as there are in poetry. Maybe it is the leaping that draws me back. Truly, to say Detroit = Paris is farther a leap than merely over the Atlantic. Nowhere is Paris. But what would Detroit be if it were "Paris"? What could it mean if we saw everything as it is, or as it could be?

      Thank you, sweet friend.

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  4. darn, I had a nice reply that I lost :(

    I see I'm not the only one whose creativity is freshened by rain. I grew up in a dry place and rain always seemed a blessing. Now I live where it rains, and sometimes beautifully. I think it's no mistake though that times of being creatively stifled or withered, are referred to as droughts.

    I go through periodic droughts and I fear there will be no reprieve. I wonder if it's the fear that causes me to suffer more than the actual dry spell. But I know too that not everything that is capable of flowering will. For that, which I find in myself, I appreciate Detroit in its current is-ness.

    I'm happy to find you "back." :)

    Wendy (aka neighbor)

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    1. Wendy, it's great to see you. I'm so sorry about your lost comment. This has happened more than once to others as well.

      I welcome your thought that perhaps it is the fear of the drought, resistance to it, that brings the suffering, more than the drought itself. And it's true that not everything that is capable of flowering will. These are wise words, and come after much experience and mindful living. Thank you so much.

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  5. A new thought -- that buildings need rain! I grew up in a place where rain was so commonplace that no one ever thought of it at all, and I've lived in Morocco where rain is seen as God's blessing.
    How one strives for balance.....
    I have never been to Detroit, but a dear friend, Rhoda Stammel, documented it in haunting photos years ago (sadly, before the internet).
    Paris is quite magical, but a little chilly. I always feel excluded there, as if Parisiennes have a secret that I'm not cool and chic enough to be let in on....

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    1. Elizabeth, yes, our thoughts of rain tend to be relative. It's fascinating, and like so many things.

      I am interested that your dear friend documented Detroit, before Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre whose photos of Detroit's decline have become what some call "urban porn." (http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1882089_1850973,00.html) It disturbs me somehow that I, too, can't look away from these photos.

      As for Paris, I think I know what you mean. There is definitely a cool aloofness, which has helped many expatriates and natives alike over the decades find anonymity there. I am so used to the American way of immediate warmth, that the immediate reservedness of the French can be off-putting. I must say though that I have had several warm and wonderful encounters with inhabitants of Paris, all the better because of their cool reputation. It just takes the right setting, I think.

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  6. But of course. A city is a living breathing entity that - like all else - would need rain to thrive and grow. I don't think I've ever quite thought of it that way...but when I do - it makes perfect sense.

    Such a beautiful ode to rain!!!

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    1. Thank you, dear Marcie. I realize this comes in a week of heartbreak due to rain in parts of our country, and I don't mean to ignore that harsh reality.

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  7. My house sure can use some evaporative cooling from a summer rain at times. Detroit just hosted some of the best at their jazz festival.

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All responses are welcome.