On Rereading “In a Station of the Metro”

 

Do you remember reading Pound in school?

My teacher said his little two-line poem

was wonderful.  At least I think that’s what

the teacher said.  I said it was a waste

of time.  An apparition of a poem

and didn’t listen, really didn’t care.

It was a measly little two line poem.

So faceless ghosts were riding on a train

of death to Neverland.  So what?  Who cares?

I certainly had better things to do

and think about than think about a poem

an idiot had written to be read

by other idiots.  Well now it seems

that I’m an idiot and wonder how

he did it, how he packed so much into

those two short lines.  When first I read it I

was standing at the station looking at

the train.  I’m riding on it now and looking out,

and it’s a very different poem now.

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One thought on “On Rereading “In a Station of the Metro”

  1. This poem is very relatable for me. I had a similar experience with a poem written by Stevan Raickovic we were reading and analysing in high-school. His words seemed like such a triffling, a waste of time. But now, when I have packed a bit more years, closer to his when he wrote those lines, and after have rode many more trains, I see it differently.
    Poetry, I think, is both a dark and light gift of life, the words of another grant us loneliness and crowd at the same time.

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