Greetings, @d-pend
Trains have always fascinated me. The simplicity of the concept, the rails, the machine, the power and the efficiency. We don’t have a train system in Venezuela; at least not like the modern commercial ones around the world. Thus, for us trains are a rarity and a marvel of human invention. When I lived in Normal, Illinois, I remember watching with fascination at the Amtrax train pass (whenever I got stopped at an intersection). I also remember watching the series Into the West back in 2005, which dramatically depicts the monumental project of the transcontinental railroad with all the drama surrounding the plundering of Indian land, the exploitation of workers, especially the Chinese, and the throat cutting competition among incipient corporations, and thinking what an amazing accomplishment and what an incredible cultural cost.
The promise of modernity has always been a problematic one, usually unfulfilled. The feat of the railroad was probably matched by that of the interstates project in the 50s, which dramatically changed the face of America. Like the dendrites of nerve cells, these new marvels of technological innovation became trees of interconnections that shortened distances even more and provided an alleged sense of freedom for those who felt that the American dream was at the tip of their fingers and toes.
This poem, like so many others, play with tensions and double entendres.
Inner vs. outer, static vs. ecstatic, interstate vs. inner state, beginnings and ends (which can be finality or purpose).
The beauty of the “Fluorescent delimiters” is marred by its own ambiguity. The road promises freedom, but it is at the same time a restrictive path that connects and divides, that highlights the death of cultures and customs that gave their lives so that the roads could grow, expand, and welcome “rapacious” progress and mobility.
Velocity stretches credulity
while change holds me still.
We live in a fast-paced world and the fastest things happen the easier they become credible. There’s no time for interrogation, for introspection, for corroboration. The mirage produced by lights in movement reflects other mirages produced by alleged progress. Change can be a paralyzing force; from the simple change of light on the road that forces you to stop to more transcendental changes that restrict movement or expansion.
We have gone from messages delivered by the Pony Express to the “dim dit-dahs” of Morse code, to the instantaneous video calls. Nothing seems long-lasting anymore, not even our own inner states.
@hlezama & @d-pend,
Dan, I hate to say it ... but this comment risks overshadowing your poem. But as I keep opining, Great Comments Improve the Value of a Post.
H ... you are undoubtedly the best literary critic on Steemit. No BS.
Dan ... the poem:
For me, the power metaphor in the poem was "gridlocked dendrites."
I had never thought of all the inter-connected interstates, highways and roads in that fashion but it is an excellent analogy. The nervous system of a country ... and of a culture. Sometimes open roads, synaptic connections firing efficiently, sometimes gridlocked, confused, in it's attempt to extract meaning from the mundane, to get to where it is going from the places where it has been.
This is actually a good example of what frequently occurs when I read your poetry. My mind locks onto a particular phrase and that becomes the lens though which I end up analyzing the rest of the poem. I end up reading other comments for an alternative take. I often find hlezama's perspectives and insights enlightening.
His fascination with railroads was an interesting twist. An additional neuronal network that America possesses but which is under-developed in South America. H, I spent several months in French Guinea (I suspect we tripped into Brazil and Suriname on occasion ... a jungle's a jungle and there were no signposts) while in the military and you're right ... there is a noticeable absence of railroads on the continent ... something which had escaped conscious articulation until you mentioned it.
I'd love to get together with the two of you sometime and break open a case of beer. I think we would have some very interesting discussions.
Quill
My wife is asking me why i am laughing so loud, she thinks it's a woman i am chatting with.
That's exactly how i imagine those "tresspassings" that once in a while become "diplomatic incidents"
Thanks for the praise.
Man, at least you are in the same country (Florida-Texas, right?). If I were at least as closed as Panama, I'd figure out how to get there and enjoy some beer and good conversation. If you ever arrange that meeting, make sure someone gets a video. That would be a great post.
@hlezama,
Tell her it "Just Gigi" ... and there you're "only friends." (Plan on cooking your own dinner.)
There's a lot of miles between Florida and Texas ... and, on top of it, Daniel will soon (?) be off to China if my understanding is correct! Nevertheless, one never knows how paths will cross. (There's a poem in that last line.)
Quill