Today’s
poem last appeared on the blog in 2010 and is repeated here today especially
for ‘Moses and Johanna’ who have been in touch to say how they, like me, have a
love-hate relationship with London.
Now, I
have lived in or near London for most of my life. I’ve seen many changes,
mostly for the worse as London has become more and more overcrowded and its
public transport systems less able to cope. Even with a car, it is rare that
you can drive the same route more than two days running due to road works, and
even then there is often nowhere convenient to park.
Yes, I
have the same love-hate relationship with London that I’ve had since I was
child and used to visit my grandparents in Battersea. I love wandering round its museums and art
galleries, exploring the South Bank, strolling on Hampstead Heath or along the
Regent’s Canal...BUT...hate the noise, crowds, and resulting pollution levels.
Will I
ever move away? I doubt it. As I grow older, I embrace change with less and
less enthusiasm. Besides, if home is where the heart is, I suspect mine is in
London.
I read
the poem on YouTube some time ago. You can see Tower Bridge and the Tower of
London in the background. Church bells began to ring out as I was reading the poem, but I think they add to rather than distract from the reading. [Background noise is always a problem when reading 'on location' especially as I could only afford a cheap camcorder. This is why I read more poems as voice-overs in later videos. If interested, you can access my YouTube channel at:
ENVOYS
FOR A CITY
In the
bowels of London’s tower,
the very
pulse of history;
its
ghosts, reliving their last hour
Let
honour demand none cower
yet smell
fear in every cavity
in the
bowels of London’s tower,
Here,
mortals high and low flower
like
lotus, spoils of eternity,
its
ghosts reliving their last hour
Anachronism,
metaphor for power,
fiercest
passions of a fine city
in the
bowels of London’s tower,
Where
ravens fly and tourists gather,
a kingdom
aspires to glory,
its
ghosts reliving their last hour
Time’s
envoys, vying with each other
to engage
with us intimately;
in the
bowels of London’s tower,
its
ghosts, reliving their last hour
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
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