Where the Freight Trains Sing
When the purple foxgloves of late May
are in their second flush,
birdsong is intricate,
the sunlight grafts a garden
and my clear eyes are rimmed with gold . . .
then I will think of you
through the fields of June,
I will follow you as a shadow and a light
to the House of Many Walls.
I will pour you a piping mug
of hot water,
of Red Rose and cream,
and leave it steeping
on my antique desk.
In the corner my dark writing desk
from Sadie Ann McMurray’s
gathers a yellowing stack of papers, from another
time;
the tapping through the wall of Chinese Medicine,
the clank of summer pipes,
air and steel, over the hum
of herbs in cupboards,
reaching to the ceiling.
I write health articles for the newspaper
under framed prints
of impasto-shadowed gardens;
who will sit for me today in this space: a muse
of an artist in their garret?
Who with crossed arms and double chins
will be my next patient?
I look out past the glass to First Ave,
watching the early mist plumes over asphalt,
where the river-wind shakes the streetlamps
before they turn away into the day.
Sipping lemon water through a straw—
my next patient did not understand
what I explained next over cups of tea.
Dear Poets,
here by day,
and here by night,
I see the pangs of another world:
a world of bustling and busy streets
beneath my window,
the sheet music of passing cars.
Beyond the awnings and the stepped roofs,
the low freight train sings beside the Fraser,
and Baker rises, white and silent,
through the sifting valley fog.
Will you rise with me
into night’s momentary shadows?
But you are afraid
of being moths
beneath streetlamps,
paper-thin
and brittle,
disappearing before morning.
The valley opens beneath my pane—
the dark silhouette of the railway cars,
the river a silver ribbon in the grey.
In the three-fold dawn chorus
the Swainson’s Thrushes sing,
joined by the Pacific Wren,
followed by the Black-headed Grosbeak.
They rise through passing shade
from the fleeting veil of night.
My Earth will turn under the moon—
my earth will tremble
beneath night’s darkened wing,
this solitude is bare,
and filled with verse,
like the sorry glass,
a vessel of apology
and thus a vessel of grief,
and of time.
Thus poetry is the gilt
gold edges of pages,
bronze foxgloves forlorn
of ancient forests,
mist evaporating:
the rims
of eyes brimming
with tears
as we render back the days.
Will you rise with me into the tender hush
where shadows of the white foxgloves
bloom beside the rare wine.
I did not want to say goodbye
so I raised a toast.
Poetry Analysis
“Where the Freight Trains Sing: Elegy Five” transforms an ordinary nutrition office overlooking First Avenue in Mission, British Columbia into a symbolic observatory where poetry, healing, vocation, and landscape quietly converge. Throughout the elegy, the speaker inhabits two worlds simultaneously: the practical rhythms of professional life—meeting patients, writing newspaper articles, preparing tea—and the contemplative realm in which every ordinary object becomes charged with symbolic significance. The office itself gradually assumes an almost monastic character. Its antique writing desk, shelves of herbs, framed paintings, stacks of papers, and familiar sounds of neighbouring clinics create a sanctuary devoted equally to healing bodies and cultivating language. Rather than escaping daily life, the poem suggests that genuine poetry arises precisely from sustained attention to its ordinary rituals. The repeated preparation of tea, the observation of passing trains, and the discipline of writing become quiet liturgies through which vocation is continually renewed.
Landscape functions as one of the poem’s principal symbolic frameworks. Unlike earlier elegies that enclosed the speaker within carefully arranged domestic interiors, this poem repeatedly opens outward through the office window toward the Fraser River, Mount Baker, railway lines, and the awakening streets below. The recurring image of the freight train becomes especially significant. Unlike passenger trains that carry people, freight trains carry burdens, provisions, and necessities; they become an emblem of the unseen labour that sustains both communities and artistic lives. Their slow movement across the valley mirrors the gradual progress of memory itself. Likewise, the surrounding geography—the morning mist, river wind, distant mountain, and shifting light—forms a contemplative landscape that reflects the speaker’s interior life. Mount Baker rises "white and silent" not merely as scenery, but as a symbol of permanence standing against the continual movement of human affairs. The landscape therefore becomes less a backdrop than an active participant in the poem’s meditation on endurance, calling, and time.
Bird imagery continues Emily Isaacson’s long-standing symbolic vocabulary while evolving it in notable ways. Whereas The Breakfast Room employed swans, robins, feathers, and theatrical avian imagery to explore innocence, performance, and emotional vulnerability, Where the Freight Trains Sing introduces specific native birds whose songs belong organically to the living landscape itself. Swainson’s Thrushes, Pacific Wrens, and Black-headed Grosbeaks become voices of the valley, participating in the daily chorus that surrounds the speaker’s work. Their songs contrast sharply with the poem’s later image of fragile moths gathering beneath streetlamps. The birds represent creatures that rise naturally into morning, while the moths embody artists and sensitive souls drawn toward transient artificial light, risking disappearance before dawn. This opposition between birds and moths quietly expresses one of the poem’s central tensions: the difference between enduring vocation rooted in creation and the fragile allure of fleeting illumination. The invitation, "Will you rise with me," therefore functions not simply as an address to other poets, but as a summons toward artistic courage and spiritual perseverance.
One of the elegy’s most distinctive achievements lies in its treatment of poetry itself as both craft and consolation. The office contains newspaper articles, framed impasto landscapes, patient consultations, and stacks of unfinished papers, yet gradually these practical objects dissolve into metaphysical symbols. The passing cars become "sheet music"; foxgloves become bronze relics of ancient forests; grief itself becomes "a vessel of apology." Throughout the poem, material objects continually transform into artistic metaphors without abandoning their physical reality. This movement reflects the speaker’s conviction that poetry does not invent beauty so much as reveal the hidden correspondences already present within everyday life. The concluding toast therefore carries profound emotional resonance. Rather than ending with despair, the poem closes with a simple act of hospitality—the raising of a wine glass toward an absent companion—suggesting that poetry itself becomes an offering made in gratitude even when farewell cannot be avoided.
Within the broader elegy sequence—including Little Winter Elegies, The Velvet Land, The Weeping White Broom, and The Breakfast Room—Where the Freight Trains Sing represents a significant expansion of Emily Isaacson’s symbolic world. The earlier elegies largely explored intimate interiors, remembered domestic spaces, seasonal landscapes, and psychologically charged objects through which grief and memory were contemplated. The Breakfast Room in particular examined the performance of femininity through the symbolic duality of the white and black swan, using theatrical imagery to explore innocence, ritual, and emotional concealment. By contrast, Where the Freight Trains Sing shifts from the private theatre of memory toward the lived vocation of the poet herself. The symbolic landscape widens from enclosed rooms to an entire valley, from carefully arranged domestic ritual to the ordinary routines of professional practice, artistic labour, and compassionate care. Healing, writing, geography, birdsong, freight trains, and morning light become woven together into a single contemplative vision. If The Breakfast Room may be understood as an elegy of interior performance, Where the Freight Trains Sing becomes an elegy of vocation—one that quietly affirms that poetry, like healing, is ultimately an act of faithful presence within the ordinary world.
Where the Freight Trains Sing Lexicon
A Lexicon of Vocation, Landscape, Healing, and the Sacred
Ordinary
The House of Many Walls
Symbolism:
A place of vocation, healing, artistic labour, and quiet hospitality.
Theological Resonance: More than a professional office, it becomes a sanctuary where acts of healing and acts of writing coexist. Like the monasteries and scriptoria of earlier centuries, it suggests that ordinary labour may itself become sacred when offered faithfully.
Purple Foxgloves
Symbolism:
Memory, beauty, endurance, and the recurring cycles of grace.
Theological Resonance: Blooming in successive flushes, the foxgloves represent resurrection rather than permanence. Their annual return reflects the Biblical rhythm of renewal after apparent absence, while their medicinal associations quietly connect healing with creation itself.
The Antique Writing
Desk
Symbolism:
Artistic inheritance, continuity, remembrance, and vocation.
Theological Resonance: The inherited desk becomes an altar of creative stewardship. Like the prophetic mantle passed from one generation to another, it suggests that artistic callings are often received rather than invented.
Tea
Symbolism:
Hospitality, conversation, comfort, and attentive presence.
Theological Resonance: Tea functions almost sacramentally throughout the elegy. Preparing a mug for another represents the offering of welcome, patience, and compassionate listening. Like Biblical meals shared between teacher and disciple, ordinary refreshment becomes an act of communion.
The Freight Train
Symbolism:
Perseverance, hidden labour, movement through time, and faithful endurance.
Theological Resonance: Unlike passenger trains carrying people toward destinations, freight trains carry burdens that sustain communities. They become emblems of quiet service, suggesting that the most faithful work often proceeds unnoticed while supporting countless lives.
Mount Baker
Symbolism:
Permanence, transcendence, silence, and faithful witness.
Theological Resonance: Rising above the changing valley, Baker recalls the Biblical symbolism of mountains as places of revelation and divine stability. It represents what remains unmoved while human life continually changes.
First Avenue
Symbolism:
Ordinary human life, daily vocation, and the visible world.
Theological Resonance: The familiar street becomes the threshold between contemplation and activity. Like the marketplaces of Scripture, it reminds the reader that holiness is discovered within ordinary communities rather than apart from them.
The Office Window
Symbolism:
Contemplation, discernment, and the meeting of inner and outer worlds.
Theological Resonance: Windows have long symbolized spiritual vision. Here the office window becomes a threshold through which the poet reads both landscape and human experience simultaneously.
Birdsong
Symbolism:
Joy, creation, praise, and living continuity.
Theological Resonance: The intricate chorus reflects creation's continual worship. Like the Psalms in which birds become voices of praise, the dawn chorus reminds the speaker that worship begins long before human activity awakens.
Swainson's Thrush
Symbolism:
Hope, ascent, and faithful song.
Theological Resonance: Its ascending flute-like call evokes spiritual longing, suggesting the soul continually reaching toward God through beauty.
Pacific Wren
Symbolism:
Hidden faithfulness and humble praise.
Theological Resonance: Although physically small, its remarkably complex song reminds the reader that greatness within creation is often measured by faithfulness rather than prominence.
Black-headed Grosbeak
Symbolism:
Fullness, harmony, and completion.
Theological Resonance: Joining the morning chorus, it contributes another voice to the larger harmony of creation, echoing Paul's image of many members composing one body.
Moths
Symbolism:
Artistic fragility, transience, and misplaced longing.
Theological Resonance: Drawn toward artificial light, the moth recalls Biblical imagery of earthly things consumed by moth and rust. Here it becomes an image of poets who risk losing themselves while pursuing fleeting illumination.
Streetlamps
Symbolism:
Human illumination, civilization, and temporary guidance.
Theological Resonance: Unlike sunrise, the streetlamp represents borrowed light. It reflects human attempts to dispel darkness while reminding us that all artificial light ultimately yields to dawn.
Valley Mist
Symbolism:
Mystery, transition, and hidden revelation.
Theological Resonance: The lifting mist recalls the gradual unveiling of divine understanding. Truth is revealed gently rather than all at once.
The River
Symbolism:
Time, continuity, memory, and pilgrimage.
Theological Resonance: Flowing beneath the speaker's window, the Fraser echoes the Biblical motif of rivers as sources of life, reminding us that time continually moves forward while carrying memory with it.
Railway Cars
Symbolism:
Journeys, burdens, and unseen stories.
Theological Resonance: Their silhouettes passing through dawn evoke humanity's shared pilgrimage. Each car suggests lives and histories carried quietly through the landscape.
The Dawn Chorus
Symbolism:
Resurrection, awakening, and new beginnings.
Theological Resonance: Morning birdsong reflects the Biblical association of dawn with resurrection, hope, and renewed mercy. Every sunrise becomes a quiet proclamation that life continues beyond the night.
The Vessel of Apology
Symbolism:
Human sorrow, humility, and emotional honesty.
Theological Resonance: Grief itself becomes a sacred vessel capable of carrying compassion. Rather than concealing weakness, the poem presents vulnerability as the very container through which grace is received.
Gilt Pages
Symbolism:
Literature, permanence, and the sanctification of memory.
Theological Resonance: Gold-edged pages suggest that words preserved with love acquire lasting value. Like illuminated manuscripts, books become physical testimonies that beauty can outlast mortality.
Bronze Foxgloves
Symbolism:
Beauty preserved by memory and transformed through art.
Theological Resonance: No longer simply flowers, the bronze foxgloves become relics of creation itself—nature translated into enduring artistic form, much as sacred vessels preserve what would otherwise fade.
The Raised Toast
Symbolism:
Farewell, gratitude, remembrance, and blessing.
Theological Resonance: The closing toast resembles a quiet benediction. Instead of ending in despair, the elegy concludes with an act of thanksgiving that acknowledges both loss and enduring fellowship, echoing the Eucharistic impulse to give thanks even in parting.
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