Thoughts on M Train

I finished M Train by Patti Smith curled up on my apartment’s nook yesterday. I started to read the book but, for some reason, also snagged the audio book version. As soon as I realized Patti Smith herself was narrating the book, I dedicated myself to hearing her words in her voice. Kelly recommended this sabbatical book for me and it’s not one I would have ever read if not for her recommendation.

The entire book felt like a dream, perhaps because she centers her dreams so strongly and holds the markings of time so loosely. I loved the moments that felt so relatable, like when she talked about how agitating it is to read a good book and how many questions she wants to be able to ask the author. Like Patti, if I have a book in my hands that grips me, usually non fiction, I can barely hold it to read more than 10-15 pages at a time. I have to put it down, pace around, and talk or write about it.

As a famous person, I so enjoyed her obsession with others, famous or not. How she retraced their steps, wanted to do things for them, and wanted to witness them in big ways. I feel that impulse and don’t always know what to do with it but she seems sure of it. Retracing the steps of writers and visiting their graves, reminds me of how much I love going to loved one’s hometowns. I want to see their high schools. I want to see their favorite hangout spot. I want to see where they skinned their knee the first time. Driving through Missoula the first time with my partner, we passed by a hospital and she quietly commented, “I was born there.” I teared up and couldn’t believe we had so casually passed by there! I nearly wanted her to turn around so we could sit in the parking lot and take it in. She looked at me confused and amused–I have never been to where I was born, beyond driving aimlessly around Pasadena, and it meant something different to me. I love how Patti was so willing to be influenced by others and swept away. She found out someone had the same birthday as her so she read all of their books, taking it as a sign of connection. Her experiences of places, like the cafe near her house and a home she bought at Rockaway beach, left me wanting to visit them as she has visited places of others.

Her husband, Fred, died quite young and, in one passage, she wonders if she’ll look back at photos of him one day thinking of him as a young man. I wonder if that ever came to pass considering she’s now 32 years older than when he died. She speaks of losing people, things, and places so similarly. Reading about her losing a dear coat filled with holes that she has visions of in a new life with a new owner came at the right time as I gear up to throw away 13 year old cleats that have seen me through countless, wonderful rugby and soccer games. What happens to our things? If I could bury this pair of cleats or cremate them, I would.

Throughout M Train, Patti talks about the idea of owning a cafe and what she imagines for it. I’ve had ongoing ideas for a coffee shop that I likely will never see through. When the cafe near her house closed, my heart broke at the image of her sitting there for one last morning, asking someone to take her photo with a polaroid camera. The owner later brought her the table and chair–I hope she still has them.

Similar to a book of poems, I feel like M Train is a book I could pick up any time and open to any page to be transported. Once I let go of trying to understand every single little thing and just existed with what was in the book, I was able to access the book better. It’s a book to read for the whole, not the parts. It’s a book to get lost in and not to understand every sentence of. It paired so very well with reading Siddhartha during the same time period.