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Evening, Washington Metro
Entrained, en masse, an ebb as from a beach:
the tide drawn by the Capitol (the dome
our moon) subsides. We move as one, yet each
toward some divisibility called home.
The trope (an ocean’s oneness) seemed more apt,
or felt more apt, when, not so long ago,
the “each” was not each entity enrapt
by his or her respective plankton glow.
Each statuary gaze (the elbow crooked
like Ambrose holding his theology)
upon the screen is likewise overlooked.
Unseen is that there’s nothing here to see.
Did any of us wish for this, a phone
to leave ourselves reciprocally alone?
Originally published in First Things
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Stephen Binns is an editor at the Smithsonian (the institution, not the magazine) residing in Chevy Chase, Maryland. His most recently published poetry appeared in the January 2023 issue of First Things.
I loved the startling metaphors for the surf of passengers boarding the train, each clutching a private pond of bioluminescent plankton. The DC Metro grows increasingly dangerous, though, and many may wish to remain reciprocally alone.
Excellent and unusual testament to
what divides us on so many levels.
That final couplet really hits home.
Did you think about using ‘to’ instead of ‘toward’ in the fourth line to keep the syllable count? Its my favourite line, by the way.
Thanks for the read, Stephen.
First, Mr. Binns, your sonnet is outstanding. And second, as moderator I have seen a few discussions about the use of the word “toward” on these pages over the years. It all boils down to the fact that some people pronounce it with two syllables and some with one.
The Cambridge Dictionary reveals that in American English two different one syllable pronunciations are listed, while in British English the two syllable pronunciation is listed first and then the one syllable.
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/toward
Mike, this has always been a problem, but most poets have solved it by using “toward” with whatever syllable count is useful for them in a particular line. Since there isn’t an agreed-upon standard for the pronunciation of the word, it’s the task of the reader to scan the line by making use of whichever pronunciation fits.
The same is true for the word “fire,” or for any words rhyming with “fire.” Another word is “ruin,” which I have always pronounced as “roon” in my Noo Yawk dialect, but which in many poems is treated as a disyllable.
That’s strange.
When I click on that link, the UK audio pronounces ‘toward’ as two syllables and the first UK pronunciation of the two listed is also two syllables.
You’re right Paul, the first, pronounced, “toward” on the British side is two syllables, the second is one syllable. I corrected my comment.
Thanks to all for your kind words and very close reading.
Perhaps even closer than mine! This was published originally in First Things nearly a year ago, and I’d never thought of the possibility of “to-ward” ringing in some ears.
I came to Washington from the very heart of the heartland, where it is always “tword” or “tord.” I probably would have kept it as “toward,” not “to,” in any event, to better suggest motion.
Thanks again.
I remember seeing this in First Things, and thinking it was such a wonderful description of an everyday scene. The figures with crooked elbows “like Ambrose holding his theology” are immediately seen by the reader, as are the other parts of the scene. The final couplet is the perfectly expressed conclusion.
Such an attractive first quatrain, Stephen, with the allusion to the Pledge of Allegiance in an appropriate “divisibility called home.” And the tide metaphor explained by the Capitol dome, which does look like the moon and was built to be a unifying beauty. The sonnet turn happens early, at line 5, proceeding into the distressing divisions of persons paying attention to their phones. What an inspiration to have each in his or her plankton glow, showing them as still parts of tide and ocean’s oneness. While the poem refers to technology separations, the mere fact of this being the Washington Metro suggests as well the excruciating political divisions. Good depiction of a lamentable situation.
This beautifully crafted sonnet with affecting imagery builds smoothly to a closing couplet that stings with its painful observation. “reciprocally alone” are words that should chill us all to the bone. Stephen, thank you!
I love this… all of it’s great, especially the closing couplet. Being Catholic, I also love lines 9-10. I keep going back and rereading the whole poem.
Your mention of this happening on the metro reminds me of my poem “Alone Together” on the same subject, which I conclude with the lines, “And our relationship descends/To that of strangers on a bus.”
Stephen, this is an extremely abstract and erudite sort of poem (though in the wonderful sonnet form), but I like it very much. From the abstractions we seem to move so something brilliantly observed: ‘Unseen is that there’s nothing here to see.’ and then that powerfully concluding couplet. Very dense, very powerful and linguistically very adept. Well done.
Thanks to all of you talented people.
Looking up and down the train platform, another unfortunate analogy suggests itself: pelicans on posts along a pier. The individuation forfeited, the sameness even of posture, not only the Church-Doctor-holding-a-tome crook of the arm, but also, for some reason, the feet held splayed: a smartphone stance.
Would it be any different if they were books instead of phones? Perhaps not, if they were all the same book. “I, Robot,” perhaps.
Thanks again.
I like the density of images in the sonnet. Somehow they are not too difficult and they all work together. My poetry often suffers from too much abstraction. If someone wished for a phone, it wasn’t me, but here I am using one.
I’m reading pages on my phone.
On someone’s couch, I’m all alone.
There’s nothing here for me to see.
Through countless pages of debris,
I search with glassy-eyed persistence
to find the purpose of existence…
Compelling and magnetic work. Thank you.