Part 1: The PLM* Flyer: Impressionism
Tracks leaving Arles for Paris,receding beyond a natural vanishing point,
quatre vingts cheveaux, huffing and chuffing,
steam rising, an onyx black locomotive,
dappling storm clouds, across a vast Turner sky,
peering through the glass, passing, in plein air,
pastoral grass pastures, Manet’s picknicers lunching,
a chemise clad bather reflecting erotic light,
dark, light, dark, light, dark, light, dark, light,
Monet’s stacks of hay piled high as l'éléphant’s eye,
Millet’s earthy harvesters and gleaners toiling,
Van Gogh’s cypresses swirling, dancing a Tahitian hula,
avant et après Gauguin, sharp turn,
catching our caboose trailing deftly,
swimming in an ocean of wavering light,
the romantic passion of a Delacroix red,
a steam whistle blowing, the crew announcing,
“Gare du Nord, Gare du Nord,
La Ville-Lumière,
nous sommes arrives!”

*PLM is an abbreviation for the 19th Century French railway company, Compagnie des chemins de fer de Paris à Lyon et à la Méditerranée.



Part 2: The Montparnasse Tram: Cubism Meets Surrealism
Huddling in the tram, our first ‘relativity’ generation:
Picasso rubbing shoulders with Braque, Duchamp,
peering through the window, watching street musicians,
the Seine, the Left Bank, interpenetrating, intersecting,
at random angles, turning fertile, shallow cubiste space,
Dionysian grapes growing, orchards of ambiguous depth,
Stein, Breton and Apollinaire, critically juxtaposing
the old myths and the new symbols to surreal effect,
Chagall recalling a Belarus shtetl in memory’s mirror,
Satie and Cocteau, imagining circus artists parading,
for Diaghilev’s Ballet Russe,in the shape of a pear,
“billets…billets,” demanding the ticket taker, finding
our motley misfits, stealthily exiting from the rear,
taking French leave to their unventilated basements,
attics, ateliers, stinking of turpentine, cats and
the unmistakable perfume of creation, Einstein’s Eden,
Gertrude saying, “I’d like you to meet someone…”
“Finalmente,” hailing Pablo, “¡Hola! Dali.”



Part 3: New York Central Commuter: Abstract Expressionism
Metro-North diesel leaving New Haven for NY,
passing Conrail, sitting in the railyard, off-loading
the same old, same old pallets from flatcars.
Observation car shuttered, curtains drawn,
smoke rising fiercely from dining car vents,
chain-smoking, nicotine and caffeine addicted,
the best and the brightest playing poker, joker’s wild,
pledging allegiance to Jasper’s flags, burning them,
protesting Viet Nam, civil rights, Cold War, summer streets,
Pollack tripping the waiter, splattering Campbells all over
the floor, yelling “Don’t move!” Gorky countering, “Fuck you!”
knee-bending a Kozatsky in the slowly swirling soup,
Grooms grabbing Callery, dancing La Cucaracha, trashing
the dining car in a food fight of  mythomorphic proportions,
speakers blaring, “Grand Central, Grand Central Station,”
Oldenburg announcing, “Let’s head over to Cedar Tavern, Mark,
Mark, where you makin’ tracks to like some bat out of hell?”
“The bank,” smiles Rothko, signaling, “the bank.”

Part 4: Le Train Bleu TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse): Minimalism
$.