This poem by Anne Michaels, written more than a decade ago, anticipates some of the themes of her new novel The Winter Vault, a passionate love story which juxtaposes historic events—the building of the St Lawrence Seaway and the Aswan Dam—with intimate moments in the lives of the characters, whose paths are altered in the course of their involvement with these ambitious constructions.
There is No City that Does Not Dream
There is no city that does not dream
from its foundations. The lost lake
crumbling in the hands of the brickmakers,
the floor of the ravine where light lies broken
with the memory of rivers. All the winters
stored in that geologic
garden. Dinosaurs sleep in the subway
at Bloor and Shaw, a bed of bones
under the rumbling track. The storm
that lit the city with the voltage
of spring, when we were eighteen
on the clean earth. The ferry ride in the rain,
wind wet with wedding music and everything that
sings in the carbon of stone and bone
like a page of love, wind-lost from a hand, unread.
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I like the poem. It dives into society and civilization of such flavor and history, revealing roots/remnants of the collective subconscious (what city hasn’t); a subject of forgotten grit too often unrecognized as the bloodline that led to where we now stand.
my favorite poem, was written by Longfellow. I believe the title is “Bow”. This is his poem:
As to the bow the cord is.
So, to the man is woman.
Though she bends him, she obeys him.
Though she draws him,yet she follows.
Useless without each other.
I know a city that doesn’t dream!…Cleveland?!..Anyhoo.