Whilst spending time in Massachusetts in the autumn of 2011 I experienced many special moments; one in particular inspired the poem below, Arlington Street .....
Arlington Street
It’s a street, just a side-street
A neat street, not my street
Arlington Street, Somerville, Boston
My daughter’s street ….
It’s October - not a sunny day, nor a dull day
It’s not a rainy day, nor a gusty day
It’s a sort of blah day
You know, just a day ….
Looking out of the living-room window
I see and hear the clanking of the dustcart
It’s collecting the appropriate bins
Trash, recycle, garden waste, whatever
It moves on down the street
Arlington Street …..
The houses on this street
Are proud, tall 1850’s three-storey
Clapperboard of grey, faded-green and the like
Now and again there are apartments
Small front gardens, hard surface drives for the cars
You know the sort of thing ….
I’m still standing there, still staring there
In my early-morning fug
When, opposite there is a woman
There on the drive, in Arlington Street, beside her flat …
She’s neither plain nor beautiful
She’s neither young nor old
She’s neither plump nor skinny
American I guess but the flash of dark eyes
The slant of the cheekbones
Speak of the East
I blink
I blink again
Mmm Yes, she’s still there
Wearing what I’d call a jumper, they’d say, sweater
It was neither fancy nor dull
The same could be said for her pants –
Not distinctive, just average ….
But here, before this unseen audience of one
The woman holds me captive
She’s mesmerising
She’s performing Tai Chi
With fluid gazelle-like movements
It’s entrancing …. So out of context, so perfect ….
Her face is unchanging, inscrutable
One moment she’s standing straight on one leg
Upright, like a summer’s silver birch
The next she bends the knee of the other and with
Perfect balance revolves
Like a Markova, a Nureyev even ….
She crouches, she squats, arms stretch, then bend
And all the time the torso is straight
The head erect and poised.
One minute up and then down, so many different moves, poses and
Never a wobble, never a falter.
Just like water flowing with beauty and grace….
It must be twenty minutes I’ve stood stock-still
Watching this strangely moving and mystic drama unfold….
I want to applaud,
Throw flowers at her feet
Rush out and gush out my admiration …..
Of course I do none of these things.
Instead I watch awestruck as she turns on her heels
And workmanlike walks from her drive
Leaving me to dwell on the magic and magnetism
Of ordinary people
Doing extraordinary things.
This time on Arlington Street, Somerville, Boston.
