Seat-Mates - April 25 2022

 

Seat-Mates

April 25 2022

The shared armrest

sits like a hyphen between us,

separating

but also signifying

that we are somehow linked.

How, in silence

and careful not to touch

we come to an understanding

about proper boundaries

and elbow space.

And how, in Row 3, seats A and B

we find ourselves tethered

no matter what.

Breathing in the same air.

Waiting as long for drinks,

as the harried attendant

negotiates the narrow aisle.

Looking wide-eyed

at each other,

as the plane drops violently

and our stomachs somersault.

Because hyphens

both join and divide.

They appear to have no rules.

Some use them liberally,

meticulous

about compartmentalizing terms,

while others prefer the streamlined look

of compound words.

And then the young couple

who have flipped that metal divider

up out of the way,

and are snuggling together

in the love-seat they've made

out of Row 11

window and centre.

Unselfconsciously touching

they have become a compound word,

not quite sure

where one begins

and the other ends.

Watching their embrace

curved in each other's arms

I think of semi-colons

and opening brackets.

A question mark

about how their romance began.

An ellipsis

for after we land,

and they glide hand-in-hand

down the crowded aisle

like a holiday island of two

off to who knows where.

While the rest of us shuffle off

with a perfunctory nod

at the temporary seat-mates

whose names we still don't know.

Who, in a moment of inattention

we brushed elbows with,

instantly retracting

while staring straight ahead.

A piece by Mary Norris – the New Yorker's resident grammar nerd – inspired this poem. I sent her the first draft, and she was gracious enough to read and respond. I thought readers might find our brief correspondence of interest. Here it is, so far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just read your piece “How to Use (or Not Use) A Hyphen” on the New Yorker app. I know it's a little indirect, but this is the only way I found to get in touch with you. I'd like to share this poem, inspired (at least partially!) by your piece. It's the first draft, so may have some rough spots. The final version will eventually appear on my blog at brianspoetryjournal.blogspot.ca, if you ever care to visit. Thanks for reading.

Brian

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bravo! I am delighted to think that my hyphen piece inspired, at least in part, a poem. They hyphen as armrest. I like it!

I took a look at your blog, too, and applaud you for finding something to do with your poetry. Good luck with it and all the est to you. Thanks!

Yours,

Mary

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ . . . and applaud you for finding something to do with your poetry . . . .“ Yes, there really isn't much to do with poetry, is there?

Unless, that is, it's in the form of popular music. Unfortunately, lyrics are rarely poetry (my apologies to Leonard Cohen, one of the few exceptions), and while hip-hop is close enough, an old fart like me has no taste for it. Actually, the blog began as just the frugal man's cheap cloud storage device: a back-up for my stuff, in case my computer melted down (again!) And since it's rarely looked at by anyone, it's still basically that.

I wonder if everyone writing you feels the same edge of anxiety as I do (and did): do they also picture your narrowed eyes and the pinched sour look on your face as you encounter each glaring grammatical misstep? Luckily, in poetry, all rules are off!

Anyway, I'm glad you didn't take issue with the implication in my poem that a hyphen is a punctuation mark (along with brackets, ellipsis, and semicolons (which, btw, I repeatedly spell semi-colon, and which keeps eliciting a squiggly red underline by the eagle-eyed grammarians at g-mail)), which your piece declares it is not (since it's included within a word). Who knew?!!

Here is the revised version. Hope you like it at least as much. It's nice to be one's own editor. Way back when, I had a letter published in the New Yorker, and I was not at all pleased with the very rigorous and ruthless editing process. I felt they eviscerated my letter of all its elegance and colour. But then again, don't most authors think every one of their precious words is sacrosanct and inviolable?

Thank you for reading. I was delighted to receive your reply.

Brian