To Marshall McLuhan by Silvia Falsaperla

Poem title: To Marshall McLuhan Poet name: Silvia Falsaperla Poem: You were right, dear professor, the great vortex came in time whirling us into the pond in which Narcissus saw his beauteous reflection. No longer an extension of the hand, the mouth, the ear, no longer a tool, but an obsession, a possession Narcissus mesmerized by his own image till he lingered and perished. In the dispiriting cafés in front of our Apple screens—the apple was once a fruit, now mechanized, and bitten like the original— the seductive bite that drove us out. Narcissus solitary and non-conversant, transfixed by the still and moving image, his words clipped—non-words, language diminished—Buckle! You had said Buckle! is the most important word in The Windhover. We have buckled—not to the spirited bird— but to the maelstrom our mechanical bride, the great seduction, the wind from the subway grate blowing and whirling her wondrous dress! Once we were discernible even in front of TV sets, even in the subway trains, reading the newspaper or a book avoiding invasive eyes, stealing a look at a man’s jaw or a woman’s dress; each inward, in possession of one’s own thoughts, idle daydreaming—till we got off at our STOP. O prof, I’d rather be in the painting by Renoir— Luncheon of the Boating Party—a finer and more textured impression than any photograph: the chatter in French seduces my ear, the wine glasses clink, the breeze from the river flaps the striped canopy of the Maison Fournaise, the men lean on the women beauteous to them; le bonheur of 1881... the good hour. End of poem. Credits and Bio: Copyright © Silvia Falsaperla Silvia Falsaperla writes poetry and fiction. She has completed a poetry manuscript, a hybrid chapbook of poetry and short stories, a children’s picture book, and is currently working on another collection of poetry and short stories. She works and lives in Toronto.