Roger Greenwald’s poem “In the Crowd” is a quiet, tender meditation on belonging, anonymity, and shared humanity. Written in fluid, meditative free verse, it immerses the reader in a deeply sensory and emotional experience of being alone among others — yet paradoxically not isolated. The poem captures the sacredness of a communal experience that does not require personal connection.
The poem is anchored around a universal moment: standing in a crowd, not knowing anyone by name, yet being fully present, fully with others. There’s a profound emotional intelligence here — the speaker is alone but not lonely, nameless but not invisible. He observes others intimately: the smell of their damp wool sweaters, their hair, the echo of their infancy, their shifting postures. These details elevate the everyday into a sacred ritual of shared embodiment.
The line “as though / you were saying their words yourself” captures a kind of empathetic fusion — the self dissolves into the collective, and language becomes communal. It is not about individual identity, but about being porous, attuned to the lives and presences of others.
The poem moves seamlessly from the stillness of waiting to the movement of entering the hall. The transition is physical and symbolic: “they do not push forward but / do not avoid the bodies either.” This crowd is not aggressive, yet it is forceful in its gentle momentum — an embodiment of community as a living current.
Inside the hall, the sensory detail becomes even more acute: the poet lists the contents of his leather jacket — kleenex, matches (in case someone needs to light up a cigarette) , lip balm, a book with 500 addresses. These items are humble and human, reminders of care, readinesss, and the scattered threads of connection to “the world outside.” Yet, inside this crowd, he holds no name to say — a poignant reminder of solitude within togetherness.
The poem reaches a luminous climax with the music. The mountain horn becomes both metaphor and experience — its ancient call resonating not just in the air but in the speaker’s body. Music becomes the language of belonging: “you hear its song as though / you were calling its notes / yourself.” This is not passive listening — it is embodied participation.
Then, a woman steps forward to sing — and “Then, a woman steps forward to sing — and “at any moment / she will call out, she will / call the beginning /of something you belong to”. This final note is sublime. It holds promise — not a guarantee, but a possibility that in this shared moment, something larger than identity or speech or even memory might begin — something that welcomes you.
About the Poet : Roger Greenwald studied at The City College of New York and the Poetry Project workshop at St. Mark’s Church In-the-Bowery. He is the author of five books of poems, most recently An Opening in the Vertical World and the book-lenght sonnet sequence Keener Sounds: A Suite (2025). His poetry has earned major honors, such as the the CBC Literary Award and the Gwendolyn MacEwen Poetry Prize from Exile Magazine.
Also noted as a translator, Greenwald has won numerous translation awards, among them the Harold Morton Landon Translation Award from the Academy of American Poets.
His acclaimed translations include North in the World (Rolf Jacobsen), Guarding the Air (Gunnar Harding),and Through Naked Branches (Tarjei Vesaas).
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