Time Lost Again

again and again I try to read a paragraph by Proust

as I sit on a bench waiting for the subway

next to two badly dressed young men

who speak noisily in an unintelligible language


facing enormous posters that advertise investments and hair pomades 


I understand nothing



one shouldn't try to read Proust in the subway

it is not possible to read Proust in 1974

Proust is no longer valid

what isn't valid is the subway

I don't understand Proust because I don't understand the subway 

I don't understand the subway because I am full of Proust

all these perceptions are Proustian 

Proust is the eye                             the subway is the object

there never was an identification of eye and object

1974 is the fusion of Proust and subway

in the eye of their incompatibility