Something to Say
Mar 24 2011

In the main concourse
of Union Station
sound is unreliable.
On hard marble floors
and faux terrazzo.
Under the curve of the massive vault,
reflecting the clamour
like high beams concentrate light.
And soaking in
to the soft warm bodies
of passers-by,
in downy parkas, woollen mufflers
toting leather bags
stuffed shut.


The measured tone
of the loud speaker
cuts through the babble
echoes back.
You walk, erratically,
as disembodied voices
grab hold, let go.
You hear conversations bleed
into each other,
a snatch of this and that
as voices overlap
then cancel out.
You could talk to yourself
out loud,
and no one would even glance
your way.


What separates man
from the animals
is not tools, or foresight
or rites of passage
but that we always have something to say,
philosophy, gossip, chitchat
passing the time of day.
And sudden laughter
in giggles, guffaws, and gales.


All that talk, going on
in this vast transient place.
Except for you, when you stopped
in silence,
taking everything in, from all directions
trying to make some sense.


Like a highly sensitive antennae,
tuned taut enough to break.

There is implied violence here:  in hard words like “cut” and “disembodied” and “snatch” and “bleed” and “cancel out”.  As well as the final line -- “taut enough to break”. And there is also a paranoid sense of alienation, disembodiment, self-consciousness. So please don’t imagine this is in any way auto-biographical!

Not that I can be sure where it did come from. I do know that I passed by Union Station (in Toronto) shortly before this poem came out. And that I’ve been noticing more and more that when people are together, there  is this ongoing non-stop conversation about anything and everything. It’s amazing how we can always come up with something new to say, how our talk  seems inexhaustible.

The one thing here that may include a bit of me is the hyper-sensitivity of the main character. Which is very much me:  excessively sensitive to all modalities of sensation, including light, smell, sound, and even touch. Easily overwhelmed, in some environments. And I manage that by turning inward, or by putting up walls and baffles:  trying to construct for myself serene and controlled surroundings.