Poem 173
This requires a bit of explaining …
… I had a book of epic poems, a lot of them translated from traditional chants/songs of other cultures … I was struck by one from Fiji of an ocean-going outrigger and crew surmounting a daunting series of seven great waves … I borrowed the form, the repetition, questioning, rising action and tension but wondered what epic struggle in my life/my world might lend itself to the structure … until I found it in my daily commute …
… every morning at 10am I left my job at the post office headquarters building on Waterloo Quay and drove home to Miramar – up the quays, all the way along Kent Tce, left at the Basin, through the Mt Vic tunnel, the long sweep of Ruahine street and then down to the last sets of lights before Evans Bay and a free run home – and every morning I tried to break my record of successive green lights in search of the ultimate seemingly unattainable goal of not having to stop once on the entire journey … it struck me that this was a modern equivalent of the individual pitting him/herself against the gods, the fates and the environment and as such my tiny victory (if it ever came) was also worthy of being sung and celebrated as an epic …
… this is written to be read out loud, ideally round the fire late at night in the wake of a great hunt …
… the noble chariot in question was Jill’s old family car, passed on to me by her father – built like a tank but with many foibles …
Running With The Gods
The day was ordinary I waited at the lights the first of the lights on the way home the fourteen sets of lights the lights went green and that was the first the next lights were difficult short and long-spaced others were there before me they moved off I did not have to stop that was the second then came the third and fourth close together but the traffic was with me and the main road was with me the lights were green the third was counted the lights were green the fourth was counted then came the intersection the five-way junction the jostling of traffic where hopes for new records had died so often the day was ordinary I chose my lane the lights went green the traffic flowed the fifth was counted it was no ordinary day the traffic flowed I chose my lane the sixth was counted! the seventh lay ahead the light showed orange the turning light only the green remained in the straight arrow my lane was the straight lane the seventh was counted the eighth lay ahead the light of the long cycle long green long red the light came into sight the light was green the traffic slowed the light stayed green the traffic slowed the light stayed green I saw my course I changed the lane the light stayed green stayed green the light was counted the eighth was counted eight lights up and eight lights down on the road home it was no ordinary day the ninth was ahead the doubtful ninth the six roads the dozen lanes complexity of a hive the cars waited there piled the traffic about me wavered the traffic about me slowed I slowed the light went green the traffic moved the dead traffic moved the ninth was counted the ninth! the tenth was a brother to the ninth running the one was running the other the tenth was green the tenth was counted I of the stripped chrome I of the faulty starter motor ahead stood the eleventh the main road was with me a truck was ahead of me I changed my lane a car was ahead of me it switched on its indicator! I changed my lane back behind the truck the heavy truck crawling up its gears the light was green the truck gathered speed the light stayed green the truck gathered speed close behind the truck I was close the light stayed green stayed green the truck was speeding! the truck crossed through the eleventh was counted in the distance was the twelfth the last light in the town the last light before the long stretch in the distance the light was green the turning arrow was green that was not good the turning arrow went orange that was worse the traffic was clear in front of me I had the straight ahead the turning arrow disappeared the light stayed green stayed green the light went orange I leaned forward the light was orange I leaned forward ... the twelfth was counted twelve up and twelve down twelve lights run on the road home all the lights on the road through town on an ordinary day I of the nonexistent handbrake I of the knocking exhaust round the corner and up through the tunnel and down engine eager traffic spreading and clearing turning aside ahead clearing my path along the avenue and round and down to the sea and the last two sets of lights the lights that led to home lights crossed a thousand times without thinking how could these now stop me? how could these now be red? the main road was with me the traffic was with me the day was with me the lights were with me the lights were green the thirteenth was counted the lights were green the fourteenth was counted you who look sideways at me now sleeping gently beside you at the lights content to inch with all the others know that looks can be deceiving I am the Hillman Super Minx I am the white rust-bucket that once ran fourteen green lights in succession!