Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

John Frederick Nims' "The Midnight Special" is a meditation on velocity, mortality, and the ever-present possibility of catastrophe that accompanies modern travel. Through controlled yet urgent language, the poem harnesses the momentum of a speeding train to explore human frailty, the thin boundary between life and death, and the existential weight of time pressing forward. The poem's structure and tone reflect both the physical movement of the train and the racing of the speaker’s thoughts, blending sensory detail with philosophical inquiry.

The opening lines, The red express, projectile / On paper tamed and charted, introduce the train as an instrument of power and precision, a force both harnessed and unpredictable. The phrase tamed and charted suggests human mastery over speed and distance—on paper, at least—but the description of the train as a projectile highlights its potential for destruction. The contrast between control and chaos is reinforced by Shatters the ominous midnight, / Screams on the sharpened rail, where the train's progress is depicted as violent, slicing through darkness with an intensity that borders on aggression. The midnight setting amplifies the unease, positioning the train as both conqueror and intruder, an unstoppable force disrupting the stillness of night.

The second stanza focuses on the sensory and kinetic experience of movement. Rain at the meter window / Jots speed in stuttering angle; the rain becomes a kind of organic metronome, measuring the train’s rapid progress in erratic patterns, while the phrase stuttering angle mimics the jolting, uneven nature of both the rain and the ride. The external world—City, farm, factory tangle / Beyond that jitter braille—blurs into indistinct shapes, an unreadable code of motion. The term jitter braille suggests that the outside world is momentarily illegible, its details lost in speed, reinforcing the theme of movement as both exhilarating and disorienting.

The third stanza shifts to the passengers inside the train, including the speaker, who is caught between motion and introspection. We, shot homeward, bobbing / With babies, beer, sleep, trouble, presents a diverse and universal cross-section of travelers, reducing human experiences—joy, relaxation, exhaustion, worry—to mere elements swept up in the train’s forward rush. The verb shot maintains the projectile imagery, reinforcing the idea that everyone aboard is hurtling toward an uncertain fate. The phrase Ponder the rocketing vista, / Feel for a moment fear signals a moment of recognition: the realization that speed and technology, though often mundane, carry an ever-present risk of disaster.

This fear manifests in the fourth stanza as the speaker imagines the fragility of the journey. Guessing, how coy a whimsy / Of spike or rail untying / Could hurl the shaggy dying / On lamps and branches near. Here, the poem pivots to an acknowledgment of fate’s unpredictability—how a minor failure, a loosened rail or a slight misalignment, could derail everything. The phrase shaggy dying suggests not only the randomness of death but also the messiness of human frailty in contrast to the sleek, mechanical force of the train. The image of bodies strewn among lamps and branches evokes the immediacy of violent impact, shifting the poem from abstract contemplation to visceral horror.

The next stanza intensifies this vision as the speaker visualizes his own destruction. I have seen, distinctly: / My six flung feet of ruin signals an out-of-body premonition, where the speaker vividly imagines himself as a casualty. The specificity of six flung feet emphasizes the physicality of the body post-impact, fragmented and scattered. The line By window or fence ribboned suggests that the body might be tangled in wreckage, caught between the mechanical and the natural. The speaker further envisions The concerned stranger / With match or flashlight kneeling, a hauntingly intimate detail that highlights the anonymity of disaster—how the body, once full of life and thought, becomes a scene for others to witness. The ferns of blood concealing / The forehead sprung and peeled merges organic and bodily imagery, making death seem at once grotesque and strangely natural.

However, the final stanza rejects this fate, or at least resists succumbing to it. The coaches quiver; shrugging, / I from that whispering hollow / (Who once really shall lie there) / A thousand times arise. This defiant act of returning from imagined death—shrugging off the vision—underscores both the resilience and denial inherent in human thought. The speaker acknowledges that he shall eventually meet death, but he refuses to accept it now, rising instead like embers, a small but persistent force against the inevitable. The closing lines, Red Flyer, careen faster: / Danger, immortal Easter, / Shrills in the trumpet skies, transform the train into an almost mythic chariot, rushing toward something beyond mere destruction. The phrase immortal Easter invokes resurrection, as if the velocity itself offers a kind of transcendence, propelling the speaker not toward ruin but toward something eternal. The imagery of a trumpet in the skies recalls both biblical and apocalyptic connotations, suggesting that speed, risk, and mortality are part of a grander design.

"The Midnight Special" is thus a poem of movement, not just in the literal sense but in its philosophical engagement with time, risk, and the illusion of control. Nims masterfully balances the physical sensations of the train journey with a psychological unraveling of fear and acceptance, capturing the way moments of transit can spark existential contemplation. The poem does not resolve whether speed is a force to be feared or embraced, but it does suggest that in our propulsion toward the unknown, we are caught between the inevitability of collapse and the thrill of momentum.

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