Reflections at Night in the Urban Fog

[James Albert Barr]

There is no sign of a Ferriss rendering from here on the concrete,
No vista worth admiring from on high in the business zone as the
Fog catches the spotlight's projection just above a dull skyscraper.

Now decked-out as artless, mirrored columns, these giant verticals
Echo down the boulevard like hypnotic doppelgangers of commodious
Illusion; averting a cracked mind before this pavement's crystal bloom.

Below the weathered brim of this bygone fedora, I see, ghostly before
Me, a perfect stranger, perhaps another somnambulist of the city wander,
Imperceptibly, past a neo-Victorian streetlight long beyond the gaslight.

Like an animated version of "A Couple in the Street" by Angrand, or
The transitory figures of Seurat, I remain indiscernible to the other:
Apparitions lost outside of history in the chilled mist of an urban ruin.

Trees in captivity are studied like botanists by the mannequins in the
Window display; their steely, soulless gaze paying homage to the plant
World like frozen shadows dressed in fineries befitting the new nature.

Downtrodden denizens drip into a shabby diner like street drainage
Mumbling to themselves in Chandleresque haikus, the two o'clock
Blues: a case-worth of stories for any old typewriter 'n' pack 'o' smokes.

I holster no hardware and exhale a yellow fog, chewing a cheap memory's
Ramifications down these overexposed streets strewn with the typical
Detritus, and the promise of 1001 more images from night's program.

In the waning distance, above a static horizon of the avenue's vanishing
Point, I see a figure in soft focus like a sepia-toned secret harboring a
Clue to this dimensional crisis as time and space are once again rebooted.

[David W. Parsley]

James, I like this one a lot.  Transcending intertextuality, this one speaks across multiple art genres and tongues.  I liked the clipped-yet-resonant, film noire sense of "Chandleresque haiku" (the plural of haiku is haiku!).  The music of the poem is appropriately nuanced but delights, for example, in deftly wrought rhyming couplets to begin tercets 2, 3, and 4.  And there is the dramatically drummed "Downtrodden denizens drip... diner... drainage".  I also like the judicious use of adjective, as in "static horizon" which could be judged redundant, but the word also implies hum or hiss on an abandoned or badly connected radio channel or screen.  Could I suggest a more nuanced word than "crisis" in the final line?

Well Done,
- David

[Terry A]

With imagery so intense, it captures what large cities have become, towns the same only less of. This poem connects below all the glossy advertising to the belly of the beast. It is a superb inditement of modern life poemed by someone with the ability to stand outside of it and see it clearly with the depth of detail necessary to its theme.

 

The sensory detail gives the poem an extraordinary living quality, the reader participates, is carried far further than just words on a flat page. It has an innerness fully equal to its outerness.  No usual fluff here, nothing superficial. Depth.  

[Terry A]

On 6/28/2024 at 12:12 AM, James Albert Barr said:

Clue to this dimensional crisis as time and space are once again rebooted.

Yes, the ultimate query still to be answered. 

[James Albert Barr]

Thank you, Terry, much appreciated! Yes, metropolitan life is something that has fascinated and provoked me in equal measure for some time now. I lived in Toronto for many years and used to go on late-night constitutionals, like Baudelaire's idea of the "flaneur", strolling alone through the long, sometimes dirty, streets of "the Big Smoke" and let my "poet's mind" soak up the atmosphere and seedy sights and have it sublimate through my creativity and analytical ruminations.  Cheers!

[incantation]

Evokes T S Eliot 

[James Albert Barr]

Once again, David, your deft comments are most appreciated. THIS poem was written in 2008, during a time-period where I was fixated on hardboiled detective fiction and film noir. I actually attempted to write it three years prior but couldn't adequately pull it off because it was missing a key ingredient: actually having read classic hardboiled fiction. So, I eventually picked up some novels by Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and James M. Cain. I was also, at the time, utterly fascinated by the 1939 New York World's Fair and its historical implications, particularly after WWII. Being a comic book aficionado (i.e. "geek"), I had noticed several comic books that were referencing the famous World's Fair that happened JUST before WWII began. Two titles in particular had caught my attention, both created, written and sometimes illustrated by Dean Motter, who clearly was also preoccupied with the '39 World's Fair. Those titles were "MIster X" (which features a concept called "psychetecture", the psychological effects architecture has on the human mind) and "Terminal City". Another key figure that informed my poem was the renowned architect and illustrator, Hugh Ferriss, whose 1929 book, "The Metropolis of Tomorrow", was greatly influential on what would ultimately become "Retro Futurism". Dean Motter was most definitely inspired by Ferriss's work.

Not surprisingly, I'm sure, my poem was also influenced by films such as Blade Runner, The Matrix, Dark City, Taxi Driver, Batman (1989) and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. Moreover, the fiction of William Gibson was also a big influence on my poem, particularly "Neuromancer" and his short story, "The Gernsback Continuum". T.S. Eliot's influence, of course, can be "detected" in the poem as well. The last four lines of the poem provide a twist of sorts, when the nameless protagonist realizes he's in a computer simulation, an artificial reality, hence, the "dimensional crisis".