Disappearing Railroad Blues

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Disappearing Railroad Blues

I never rode the City of New Orleans
or the Orient Express, no train to Marrakesh
or across frozen steppes,

I’ve heard freight trains sigh,
clang, and clatter, just a trace
of Wood Guthrie and hobo blues,
toxic chemicals in the cars now,
braced with hopes and prayers.

I travel on local trains, no baggage,
save a wedge of Gouda from a gourmet store,
I commute with commuters
over a bridge, Philadelphia mirrored in the river,
day-dreaming day-tripper–

but my dad dreamt of sleeper berths,
western mountains, deserts, and ancient peoples. Shapeshifters.
“Such beautiful vistas,” he said.

I hold the card with
his handwriting, a message from the past
braked at a junction of memory,
populated by ghosts. The train rolls on.
It always does.

The image above is a postcard my dad sent from this trip. He mentioned some problem with his eyes, and I can’t remember if he had to end the trip early. I was busy with toddlers and working on a new book.

For dVerse. My poem’s title comes from “City of New Orleans” by Steve Goodman. Arlo Guthrie’s version might be more well-known.

55 thoughts on “Disappearing Railroad Blues”

  1. It’s a great title, Merril, and great snapshots of your train experiences, like a series of postcards – and it ends with a real postcard! I love the use of the senses, especially in the lines:

    ‘I’ve heard freight trains sigh,
    clang, and clatter, just a trace
    of Woody Guthrie and hobo blues’

    and the vivid image in:

    ‘over a bridge, Philadelphia mirrored in the river’.

  7. Love reading your train local travels vs that with your dad and his handwritten postcard. Such beautiful vistas indeed. And like life, the train rolls on.

  10. “It always does” what a great line to end a poem on trains! Merril, I love the title and I can understand your father’s dreams of “sleeper berths”! A lovely contrast between your experience and your father’s. Thanks for sharing a snapshot of his postcard. ❤️

  11. My goodness Merril, this poetic ride through Philly is spectacular, and I love the shifts you make between the ‘exotic’ rails of elsewhere and the ‘ordinary’ rhythms of the local commute. Holding your father’s postcard makes the ride between both spaces that much more poignant.

  13. What a wonderful share of two generations taking trains for different reasons. Wonderful imagery and to end with a real postcard is just so perfect!

  16. Yes, trains were everpresent in my parents’ memory, before the superhighways were built in the ’50s and everyone started driving. A disappearing railroad blues. Early jazz players favored the train whistle harmonica.

  17. The old stream railways are most romantic, aren’t they, Merril? I love your poem! Nick and I dined in a (stationary) Orient Express carriage last week – a memorable experience 😊

    • Thank you so much, Ingrid.
      I’ve seen train car restaurants, and there are some that were old stations, but nothing as memorable as the Orient Express here!
      It sounds like a lovely time for you and Nick! 😊

  18. First two stanzas brilliant, wonderful…3rd…really I chuckled…then bang, crushed with the power of your verse the last two……really such good poetry, in composition, thought..almost too strong for me….perhaps as a father of 3 gals…..I could feel the passion there.

  19. Loved this, Merril, every train imagined through song or tale! But especially the closing, this phrasing: “a message from the past
    braked at a junction of memory” — How exquisite!

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