British Rail Regrets

One of the things I wanted to do with this blog was to show people poems that they can relate to. In my current state of frustration with National Rail, after experiencing a day of delays and cancellations, I am confident that today's poem will have a refrain that is familiar to many.  I'm going to type it out this time as it doesn't seem to be widely available online.

British Rail Regrets, by Steve Turner

British Rail regrets
having to regret.
British Rail regrets
it cannot spell.
British Rail regrets
the chalk ran out.
British Rail regrets
that due to a staff shortage
there will be no-one
to offer regrets.
British Rail regrets, but will not be sending
flowers or tributes.
British Rail regrets
the early arrival
of your train.
This was due to industrious action.
British Rail regrets
that because of a work-to-rule
by our tape machine
this is a real person.
British Rail regrets
the cheese shortage
in your sandwich.
This is due to
a points failure.
The steward got
three out of ten.
British Rail regrets.
Tears flow from beneath
the locked doors of staff rooms.
Red-eyed ticket collectors
offer comfort
to stranded passengers.
Angry drivers threaten
to come out in sympathy
with the public.
British Rail regrets.
That's why its members
are permanently dressed in black.
That's why porters stand around
as if in a state of shock.
That's why Passenger Information
is off the hook.

British Rail regrets
that due to the shortage of regrets
there will be a train.

the bearers of bad news

This poem highlights how British Rail has to apologise for every little thing, and uses a bit of humour in the process. Whether or not Turner did this to emphasise how bad the service is or how demanding the customers are, I'm not sure - but I think there's a certain degree of sympathy in here for the people who work for train companies.  They're described as 'red-eyed', 'angry', and 'in a state of shock'. It can't be easy having to regularly deal with pissed off customers, people who take out their anger on you for things that probably aren't your fault. This poem, while reminding me of how irritating train services can be, also reminds me to try to be nice to the staff.

Unless, of course, I come across someone who is responsible for train signalling. How there can be so many regular signal failures is beyond me, and I hope for their own good that those people are kept in offices far out of the reach of the general public.

[end rant] 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

I recently stumbled across a blog which really made me stop and think about my mortality in a way that I don't think I had before.  Obviously, I know I won't be around forever, but I take it for granted that I've got at least 50 years ahead of me.  I think to a certain degree, you have to ignore the fact of your own mortality - not so much that you don't look before crossing the road, but just to be able to go ahead and make future plans and goals and to have hope and dreams.  The blog is written by a young woman named Ellie, 28, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer earlier this year and is fighting it remarkably bravely.  I like the blog because I like her - she is angry, sad, realistic, funny and not overly cheesy.  Take a look:  http://writtenoff.net/about/

Ellie believes she can beat her cancer, and I sincerely hope that she does.  This reminds me of a poem - more of a traditional classic than the others I have posted so far (don't let that put anyone off!)

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, by Dylan Thomas.  Read it here:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/do-not-go-gentle-into-that-good-night/

This poem and Ellie's blog have a fighting spirit in common.  If you've ever had anyone close to you be critically ill or even dying, you will know that urge, that desperation, for them to keep going and to resist death - whether or not that's a fair or possible ask.  The repetition of the lines 'do not go gentle into that good night' and 'rage, rage against the dying of the light' are really powerful in embodying that anguish and the need to keep going.  I like the universality of the poem too; despite being addressed to a father, I think it is less about one person and more about being human full stop.  Be you wild or wise, good or grave, everyone will face death.  You could wonder why it's even worth trying, but I suppose it's the love of those around us - like the son's voice in the poem, or Ellie's fiance in her blog - that keeps us going and makes us want to fight and stay alive for as long as we can.

If you're a complete geek like me, you may be interested to know that this poem is an example of a villanelle.