Photo of Mohonk Mountain grounds.‘Taxi from Mohonk’ by James Sale The Society July 18, 2019 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 13 Comments The taxi driver took us down From great Mohonk, New Paltz and such; And every mile we got to touch We felt the pull of New York town. And chatting in our easy way— He black, me white, what difference then? Only as humans, two grown men, We both outlined our lives today. What did it mean to be a Yank? To be a Brit so far from home? Each saw the other as his own: Before God, true—there is no rank. Then he expressed his great surprise: I was the first Brit in his cab He’d ever met, who’d ever had Belief One strong upheld the skies. James Sale, FRSA is a leading expert on motivation, and the creator and licensor of Motivational Maps worldwide. James has been writing poetry for over 40 years and has seven collections of poems published, including most recently, Inside the Whale, his metaphor for being in hospital and surviving cancer, which afflicted him in 2011. He can be found at www.jamessale.co.uk and contacted at james@motivational maps.com. He is the winner of First Prize in the Society’s 2017 Competition and Second Prize in the Society’s 2015 Competition. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 13 Responses Joseph S. Salemi July 18, 2019 A beautiful poem, James. But let me add one comment in old New York dialect: “Dat musta bin one helluva cab-fare from Mohonk-New Paltz down to Noo Yawk City, mack!” Reply James Sale July 19, 2019 Thanks for your kind comment, Joe – beauty is what I always want. And, for the purposes of transparency, I ought to come clean and say we took a taxi from Mohonk to Poughkeepsie (about 20 miles) and from there the Amtrak train to NY City – so not quite as expensive as perhaps one may have inferred from the poem! But thanks for keeping an eye on my finances for me: much appreciated! Reply Theresa Rodriguez July 18, 2019 I enjoyed this poem very much, James. It was wonderful to meet you in New York! Reply James Sale July 19, 2019 Thanks Theresa – and ditto – it was a remarkable day which will stay in my memory always. As well as being a very fine poet, you are great company! Reply C.B. Anderson July 18, 2019 Shame on me for having missed that event, but the logistical problems on my end were immense. Yes, that’s more an excuse than a reason, but June is a month in which I derive a good share of my annual income. You might ask me, should I not put poetry before solvency? It depends on the price of paper and typewriter ribbons. Reply James Sale July 19, 2019 We missed you CB – the cry went out, Where’s CB?, from 33rd Street down the echoing avenues till the sound finally petered out at Jackson Heights. All faces in the gloom looked lost in the greyness of the day; but then a taxi honked its horn and the NY Muse returned – a voice went up, followed by others, and that has made all the difference. Next time, then? Reply Sally Cook July 19, 2019 Dear James Sale, I am always glad to see your work, and this poem is no exception. I think what I like most about it is that you never neglect one aspect of the poem in addressing the others. Recently I was referred to an emerging poet, and told that this person was so good I wouldn’t mind the lack of rhyme. After reading the poem in question, this was my reaction: Concept, metaphor and simile were unusual. and the rhythm of the stanzas was satisfying. But I missed the rhyme. My initial reaction was, this was an emotional poem, with no attempt at all to construct its shape — something like the difference between a finely tailored jacket and a plastic poncho. Also, it did not have capital letters at the beginning of many lines, so I suspected it of being a short piece of prose sneaking in disguised as a poem. Needless to say, this took away from all its good qualities. My point in mentioning this is, thankfully, what I never see in your work. You respect the craft, and this, for me, is worth tons of the new and unusual’ And, shows me what kind of poet you are. Thanks for being that poet ! Reply James Sale July 19, 2019 Dear Sally, Thank you so much – your words mean a lot to me. I would not want ever – consciously – to disrespect the craft of poetry, although I am sure I fail from time to time through some error of judgement, which tends to afflict all human beings, as I understand that Homer nodded, and Shakespeare should have blotted a thousand lines, so if we in contemporary times fail to make the grade sometimes, then one pleads mercy. But you are seriously right on several important points here, of which let me comment on one: namely, the intention. The purpose of poetry is not trying to be ‘unusual’, trying to be ‘new’, trying to be ‘clever’ in fact, and showing off just how good one – that is, one’s ego – is. On the contrary, as you make clear, the purpose is to pursue the art through discipline and imitation of the greats; and also, doing so whilst simultaneously hearkening to the voice of the Muse – she, sweet she – who visits the soul of every man and woman who opens their heart and is in the process of becoming truly alive. In this way we skip the rote, we miss the cliches, and we arrive at the point where the beauty of the cosmos is revealed in a snatch of words. O, that we could be forever in that state of listening to their Muse-ic! Of course, I appreciate your words because I know from having commented on your poetry before that you too are attentive to such voices. Thank you. Reply Sally Cook July 22, 2019 Yes, James, but don’t ever make the mistake of assuming one of those automated car ladies is anywhere like the Muse, or you will shortly find yourself in a ditch! Thanks for your kind words. Reply James Sale July 22, 2019 Sally – I’ll keep that piece of advice in mind! Thanks. Reply Evan Mantyk July 22, 2019 Thank you for coming to New York, James! It was an honor to meet you in person. There is a touch of the epic in the poem, the great journey and the whispers in the wind of even greater forces at work. Reply Sally Cook July 22, 2019 Evan – You are doing something of such importance. Reply James Sale July 23, 2019 Yes, Sally, it is true to say that Evan is doing something – often thanklessly – of utmost importance. Indeed, it was my honour to meet Evan and his wife. Thanks for the kind comments, Evan – if there is even a whiff of ‘epic’ in my work, I shall be pleased, since it is the form of poetry that I admire and seek to emulate the most: the Muse Calliope (but ignoring the taxi of that name – on Sally’s wise advice). Leave a Reply to Sally Cook Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.