{"id":76084,"date":"2014-08-28T15:58:47","date_gmt":"2014-08-28T19:58:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=76084"},"modified":"2014-08-29T10:34:43","modified_gmt":"2014-08-29T14:34:43","slug":"for-the-1-train-dead","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/08\/28\/for-the-1-train-dead\/","title":{"rendered":"For the 1 Train Dead"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_76075\" style=\"width: 610px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/08\/robert-lowell.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-76075\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-76088\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/08\/robert-lowell.jpg\" alt=\"Robert-Lowell\" width=\"600\" height=\"379\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/08\/robert-lowell.jpg 530w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/08\/robert-lowell-300x189.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-76075\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Robert Lowell at home.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>New Yorkers like to affect jadedness in the face of celebrity; we yawn, we stare fixedly in the other direction, we scorn star-struck tourists \u00a0And yet today, I had a celeb sighting so exciting I reacted like a middle-schooler at a taping of <em>Total Request Live<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>I had just entered a pleasantly empty subway car, only to discover the cause of its emptiness\u2014a broken AC\u2014too late. I was cursing my luck and considering an illegal dash between cars when I saw him. There, across the aisle, and under a Poetry in Motion poster, was Robert Lowell. To the life: the patrician features, the distinctive nose, eyes that had known suffering and pain as well as realms of genius invisible to the normal run of mortals. He was not a man in the first blush of youth; this was \u201cDay by Day\u201d\u2013era Lowell. He was wearing a rumpled linen jacket and tie. Of course he was.<\/p>\n<p>All thoughts of changing cars having fled, I took a seat directly opposite and stared. There was no question about it: this was Robert Lowell. Maybe a ghost. At the very least a relative. He could certainly have made a good living as a Lowell impersonator, traveling the world and reciting confessional poetry with a Brahman\u00a0inflection. Well, a living, anyway.<\/p>\n<p>I waited for my chance. I didn\u2019t want to strike too soon, but on the other hand I couldn\u2019t live without knowing. Best-case scenario, he\u2019d break into \u201cLife Studies.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I timed it carefully. When we were one stop away from my point of departure, I planted myself in front of him. \u201cExcuse me, sir?\u201d I said, my voice quavering. He looked up. His eyes were very, very sad. \u201cHas anyone ever told you how much you look like Robert Lowell?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>For a horrible moment, the lack of comprehension on his face was such that I thought he might not speak English. But then he said, \u201cRobert who?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There were two French tourists watching the proceedings with interest. Maybe they didn\u2019t realize that other cars were air-conditioned.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRobert Lowell, the poet,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s a compliment. He was an excellent poet! And handsome! I mean, he had his problems\u201d\u2014I said this in case he should look up his biography and think I had been less than forthcoming\u2014\u201cbut who doesn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh,\u201d he said. \u201cThanks, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I turned my back and stared at the doors for what felt like an eternity. It must have been a hundred degrees in there. Frankly, I thought, if that guy wasn\u2019t Robert Lowell, and either mentally ill or supernatural, it was really weird that he was sitting in this sweltering car. Frankly, it was irrational.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>New Yorkers like to affect jadedness in the face of celebrity; we yawn, we stare fixedly in the other direction, we scorn star-struck tourists \u00a0And yet today, I had a celeb sighting so exciting I reacted like a middle-schooler at a taping of Total Request Live. I had just entered a pleasantly empty subway car, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":178,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13115],"tags":[15123,125,630,607],"class_list":["post-76084","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-brief-encounter","tag-new-york-city","tag-robert-lowell","tag-subway"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>For the 1 Train Dead<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Sadie Stein on her brief encounter with the ghost of Robert Lowell.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/08\/28\/for-the-1-train-dead\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"For the 1 Train Dead by Sadie Stein\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"August 28, 2014 \u2013 New Yorkers like to affect jadedness in the face of celebrity; 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