Standing Passengers
On a loop, holding
The noose by the pewter’s edge
Back bent & pendent
As the world turns
So many stranded seconds
Between each stop
So many stops to see
What happens, or what’s happening
Or what hasn’t happened
Yet, petulant
& expressionless, with an eye
For the details
Mutely unrolling
On each minute surface
As a rule of thumb
All it takes is one
To move between
Time & space
Harvesting memories
For a fist full of variables, valuables
Exchanged, change
Dangling in pockets
Of air-conditioned hum
The swift silent gathering
Of a cloud among many other
Clouds, an invitation to look
At objects which are closer
Than they might appear
In my prior life
I was a pair of jeans
So often put on
Or placed between
Sundry parts, articles
Of cloth or words
First one foot
Then the next
To slip inside me
Sequestered in denim
To live again
Or be repeating
To breathe & feel
On yielded knees
Consider algebra
Theorems you never read
Or half-remembered
How to be one
With yourself or how to be
Another
| Chris Campanioni |
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levelheaded: Standing Passengers
At the close of this week’s poem, the speaker comes to realize what may have been the purpose of the piece all along. The poem is an exercise in “How to be one // With yourself or how to be / Another.” What’s more, it shows us that by inhabiting other things, one can come to more fully understand him or herself.
From the outset of “Standing Passengers,” the stakes are high. The lines “On a loop, holding / The noose […] // Back bent & pendent” suggest someone approaching suicide, or at the very least, someone who feels continuously on the “edge,” near an intellectual, emotional, or physical death.
Upon presenting the close proximity to death, the speaker considers the “stranded seconds / Between each stop.” Here, the word “seconds” is particularly interesting, functioning not only as a unit of time, but also as a nod to the continuous “loop,” to “the world [that] turns” as one thing turns into another. There’s the first thing (“Back bent”) and then there’s the “second” thing (“pendent”) born out of it. There’s “What happens, or what’s happening // Or what hasn’t happened.” Fittingly, seven lines after the word “pendent,” the speaker arrives as the word “petulant,” further demonstrating the interconnectedness of all things.
Like the poem’s speaker, Campanioni has “an eye / For the details // Mutely unrolling / On each minute surface.” These lines also prove deceptively complex. While it’s “the details” that are “Mutely unrolling,” sight is a mute sense; eyes roll. It’s no coincidence that, in addition to serving as an adjective pertaining to size, the word “minute” is another time measurement. If Campanioni is out to show how life’s a loop, the phrase “minute surface” is a perfect precursor to “Time & space” a few lines later.
This method of linking one word or idea to the next drives Campanioni’s poem forward. It also make the piece especially entertaining and endearing. As readers, we see another mind at work. We appreciate the craft required to make something feel this spontaneous. And we feel the heartache and joy that come with making connections.
– The Editors
