Acquainted with the Night

Years ago, in a quiet leafy corner in Gainesville, in the best bookstore I have ever been in -Book Lovers cafe, I chanced
upon a book of poems.
It had many beautiful verses by the most prolific poets of all time - Keats, Wordsworth, Bronte.. I could go on.
There was one poem by Frost that caught my eye. It was called "Acquainted with the Night"
and like many things - it did not make sense to me at first reading. Or at second.
It is only these rainy days and nights, in the wane of 2009 that I am able to piece the meaning together and understand what he meant.
Life has never been faster and slower all at the same time.
I guess its fair to say that I am somewhat a loner these days.
The lonliness one can feel in a crowd full of people, the paradoxical feeling of time being neither wrong nor right,
Even the Terza Rima. Its crystal clear now.
Its funny to feel some of these things inside and actually do them physically as I have these past few crazy weeks at work.
Walk back home in the dark. with a rain cover, greet the watchman in my building and see the moon overhead.
And in my version of the poem, the interrupted cry is often a blinking sms or an infamous phone ring that I answer expectantly but ends up being from an over zealous credit card vendor.
I guess it is fair to say, that yes: I have been acquainted with the night.


Acquainted with the Night
Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.