screw you, poetry on the way!
as it happens in many large cities, the ttc in toronto has ads in all it's trains and busses.
sometimes, the ad spaces are 'poetry on the way'.
this not only brings poetry into the lives of the nameless ignorant hordes who ride the rocket, it provides me with an irritating source of continued frustration.
i can't find the poems they have up anywhere online.
they run for weeks or months each time, but somehow i never seem to have written down all the necessary info to EVER FIND THE POEMS EVER AGAIN!
"someone curled an arm around you while you slept
it's been years since i felt the morning kind"
i have a subway transfer with those lines and the name of the author taped into one of my notebooks. i was so sure that i would be able to locate the poem again. NOPE, i must have lost a letter or something in my scurry up to the transfer machine, eager to savour the poetess's works at a later time, having noticed that the poem was suddenly being replaced by global tv ads. perhaps she has only ever written one poem ever and that was only published on the subway.
the poetry by the way website did not offer a list of works, or even any number to contact them the last time i checked, today it seems to have vanished or be buried too deep in the tangles of the world wide web to be located.
saturday, megpye, ryskie and i were driving home from town back to the desert castle.
at the corner just south of the university, where the LRT extension is being built is my favourite graffito in this city. as i craned my neck to look again at the pentagon construction company sign, with a shiny grenade stencilled into the centre of the large pentagon, i noticed another sign.
"hey do we need some more books and treasures?"
"books AND treasures?!?" said ryskie
"what kind of books and treasures?" asked megpye
i pointed out the large fluorescent piece of bristol board tied to the fencing that had an arrow indicating a direction and stating in plain purple capitol letters, "books and treasures".
we wondered if it was a yard sale or a junk seller.
we made the required dangerous lane changes mid-intersection and veered off to the right in the direction of the arrow.
we found a magical used bookstore full of book treasures and unusual things. we shopped for an hour until they were closing on us.
i snatched up a tiny book full of Catullus poetry at the last second.
"I LOVE THIS GUY HE IS SO SEXY" i swooned, clutching the tiny tome to my heart.
"THERE WAS THIS POEM ON THE SUBWAY BACK IN T.O., IT WAS SO ROMANTIC I WEPT THE FIRST TIME I READ IT!!!1!!"
we lept back into our red tercades, and i began to flip through the book trying to find the poem.
i found it, and read it, but it was stilted and awkward sounding. where was the unhinged passion for his darling Lesbia? why was the poem not able to recall that heedless, reckless rush of infatuation?
"let us judge all the rumors of the old men
to be worth just one penny" how oddly stodgy.
i remembered the line to be something more like, "let us love and pay no heed to the old men's thoughts"
so i search the Internets, trying to find the words that i am seeking. desperately chasing that feeling of the first moment when i read the words displayed in blue sans-serif between ads for axe perfume and the hour with George Strombalopolis.
but i can't find the poetry by the way translation anywhere. there is nothing i can find officially about the poetry on the way, just a few bloggers vehemently hating on or loving up "Branch Line" by Gary Michael Dault.
it's really pissing me off today.
sometimes, the ad spaces are 'poetry on the way'.
this not only brings poetry into the lives of the nameless ignorant hordes who ride the rocket, it provides me with an irritating source of continued frustration.
i can't find the poems they have up anywhere online.
they run for weeks or months each time, but somehow i never seem to have written down all the necessary info to EVER FIND THE POEMS EVER AGAIN!
"someone curled an arm around you while you slept
it's been years since i felt the morning kind"
i have a subway transfer with those lines and the name of the author taped into one of my notebooks. i was so sure that i would be able to locate the poem again. NOPE, i must have lost a letter or something in my scurry up to the transfer machine, eager to savour the poetess's works at a later time, having noticed that the poem was suddenly being replaced by global tv ads. perhaps she has only ever written one poem ever and that was only published on the subway.
the poetry by the way website did not offer a list of works, or even any number to contact them the last time i checked, today it seems to have vanished or be buried too deep in the tangles of the world wide web to be located.
saturday, megpye, ryskie and i were driving home from town back to the desert castle.
at the corner just south of the university, where the LRT extension is being built is my favourite graffito in this city. as i craned my neck to look again at the pentagon construction company sign, with a shiny grenade stencilled into the centre of the large pentagon, i noticed another sign.
"hey do we need some more books and treasures?"
"books AND treasures?!?" said ryskie
"what kind of books and treasures?" asked megpye
i pointed out the large fluorescent piece of bristol board tied to the fencing that had an arrow indicating a direction and stating in plain purple capitol letters, "books and treasures".
we wondered if it was a yard sale or a junk seller.
we made the required dangerous lane changes mid-intersection and veered off to the right in the direction of the arrow.
we found a magical used bookstore full of book treasures and unusual things. we shopped for an hour until they were closing on us.
i snatched up a tiny book full of Catullus poetry at the last second.
"I LOVE THIS GUY HE IS SO SEXY" i swooned, clutching the tiny tome to my heart.
"THERE WAS THIS POEM ON THE SUBWAY BACK IN T.O., IT WAS SO ROMANTIC I WEPT THE FIRST TIME I READ IT!!!1!!"
we lept back into our red tercades, and i began to flip through the book trying to find the poem.
i found it, and read it, but it was stilted and awkward sounding. where was the unhinged passion for his darling Lesbia? why was the poem not able to recall that heedless, reckless rush of infatuation?
"let us judge all the rumors of the old men
to be worth just one penny" how oddly stodgy.
i remembered the line to be something more like, "let us love and pay no heed to the old men's thoughts"
so i search the Internets, trying to find the words that i am seeking. desperately chasing that feeling of the first moment when i read the words displayed in blue sans-serif between ads for axe perfume and the hour with George Strombalopolis.
but i can't find the poetry by the way translation anywhere. there is nothing i can find officially about the poetry on the way, just a few bloggers vehemently hating on or loving up "Branch Line" by Gary Michael Dault.
it's really pissing me off today.