Tag: London

  • London

    The difference between art and ornamentation is provocation. If it provokes thoughts, feelings, actions, opposition – anything but indifference – it is art. (Me, personal communication)

    London is art.

    I wander around the city,
    from pillar to post,
    from juxtaposition to juxtaposition.

    It has a lot of pillars and posts –
    old and contemporary,
    pretentions and utilitarian,
    faux Greek and real concrete.

    I peel it layer by layer:
    Shiny facades concealing ruins,
    ruins prepared to be reorganised,
    rebuilt, repurposed,
    reabsorbed into nostalgia for the past
    or hope for the future.

    Only dead cities are immutable –
    monuments to past hopes of individual success
    and current delusions of national grandeur.
    Gravestones.

    Living cities have to consist of ruins,
    it is a process of recreation,
    flux and flow of people and things,
    moving between loss and hope,
    provoking innovation and outrage.

    London is art.

  • Travel etiquette

    Standing squashed on the train,
    through persistent migraine
    going down the drain
    with the dregs,

    look around and up,
    squeeze your gaze in the gap
    ‘twixt the arms and the crap
    in the bags.

    Think of people inside
    this elaborate hide
    made to coddle and hide
    their fears:

    some are dressed to impress,
    some are dressed to possess,
    some are dressed to undress,
    it appears.

    As they hang off handrails,
    in the hamster-wheel race,
    do your best to embrace
    their sorrow.

    Don’t be sad, don’t be mad.
    Smile and nod, look ahead.
    They or you could be dead
    by tomorrow.

  • London Night

    Drown in the London night.
    In the dark you see the light,
    river beckons, cold and bright.
    Drown in the London night.

  • A monument to Yuri Gagarin in London – verse 1

    The city is made of shadows of history,
    from the heavy metal shadows of ideas,
    through the solid, slightly organic, old-stone shadows of creation,
    to the barely noticeable, evanescent shadows of lives unexamined and barely lived,
    momentarily dispersed by prevalent winds,
    lives of which the city itself is composed,
    its life blood,
    without which it is just a heap of stuff,
    a stone doll-house decorated by metal figurines…

  • A monument to Yuri Gagarin in London – verse 2

    Everything burns up in time:
    people,
    monuments,
    ideas,
    planets,
    galaxies…
    and all the losses but the first one are completely non-significant.

Free Web Hosting