where did the silence go

Tags

2017, 6*, breathing, brick, Eastbourne, gables, passing, question, red, seagull, silence, sound, streetlight, the British Empire, time, traffic, trees, windows, winter

                where did the silence go
                along the rows of gables
                and chimes on the hour

                calls the seagull on the cornice
                to the seagull on the lamp post
                once, looking one way, twice,

                three times as the traffic
                feeds through the roundabout
                and winter trees branch

                and fibrillate before the
                turrets and windows of
                past red-brick Empire

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

breathing wormhole: with all love released
Eastbourne & red & time wormhole: growth
passing wormhole: olive trees
seagull & sound & streetlight wormhole: and ‘naerrgh’ a mention of a seagull’s call
silence & trees wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Making Hay
windows wormhole: quiet river
winter wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow

 

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B le tch l ey P ark

Tags

1960s, 1980s, 2016, 20th century, Bletchley Park, blink, cable, change, children, chimney, colour, communication, culture, data, Edwardian, elbow, ethic, Europe, eyes, grain, Have, history, hotel, ink, knowledge, legacy, living, Luton, marble, meaning, metal, militarism, mind, night, pattern, poem, point, politics, possibility, power, railtrack, rhythm, smell, smile, society, sound, story, subversion, table, the British Empire, thought, time, timetable, typewriter, veins, windows, wood, World War, writing

 

 

 

                                B  le  tch l  ey      P   ark

                                Edwardian fingers pointed
                                from military sleeve the way
                                in and the way through

                                while some knew that a W
                                will never return a W and
                                we will henceforth return

                                to a following possibility of
                                change, the veins in marble
                                cladding and the grain in

                                parquetry floor were no
                                longer décor of legacy but
                                cover for subversion – smiling

                                minds up in front of chimney
                                stacks – no, now, platted
                                and inflexible cable linked

                                lozenges of releasing code
                                (no-longer-just-location)
                                in patterns of levered ratchet

                                across European divide; no more
                                the flurry scratch of ink across
                                blotted paper with fortitude

                                and Empire wile, now the
                                erstwhile sturdy tables were
                                anchored by elbow and fallen

                                eye gazed at shifting pattern,
                                now the heat of metal and
                                ribbon made the ink fume

                                like acid; now was the time
                                of proletariat genius as tape
                                connected the diagonals and

                                metal frame softened and
                                bent in constant hold;
                                now the colour was splashed

                                and the ethic was learned
                                and the story is told to the
                                schoolchildren who – blink

 

visit, 260416, pages of scribbled notes; the poem sifted and shifted until a pattern formed and simultaneously dispersed, across time; in the hotel room in Luton right next to the rail-line which slingshot-ricochet’d passing trainsnotstopping in the window one side, out the window the other, all night and all of the day, in timetable but not necessarily rhythm

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: impressionism
change wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
chimney wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V
communication wormhole: Nostalgia for Samsara – poewieview #16
eyes & Have & history & hotel & time wormhole: tag cloud poem IX – haiku is awkward / the more that is left in / like uncombed hair
knowledge wormhole: 1963
living wormhole: need
meaning wormhole: quite … / … yet – poewieview #12
mind wormhole: becoming
night & society wormhole: no one – poewieview #24
power wormhole: top table
politics wormhole: dear clown’s face
smell wormhole: when writing // stay
smile & thought wormhole: while walking
sound wormhole: 1965
table wormhole: 1964
windows wormhole: mauve
wood wormhole: quick inventory after coffee
writing wormhole: words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25

 

finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915

Tags

2015, advertising, afterlife, alignment, alley, angel, apartment, architecture, ash tree, Ashlar Place, balcony, baptism, bay window, beech, belief, Beresford Square, Bloomfield Road, boundary, brick, brown, building, buildings, bus, cars, change, childhood, church, compassion, crane, daughter, death, decades, Eglinton Hill, family, glass, God, gold, grass, grey, gurdwara, halo, hedge, hill, history, houses, identity, iron, jet plane, John, khanda, Lee Rigby, leylandii, life, lime, living, London, loneliness, looking, love, memory, mother, Mum, Nan, passing, photograph, pipes, Plumstead, rain, red, rooftops, sandstone, shadow, shop, sky, smile, society, sound, stone, streetlight, streets, suitcase, sun, the British Empire, time, traffic, travelling, trees, true nature, walls, wind, Woolwich, Woolwich New Road, writing

            looking for my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915¹

            these times of being cut loose are more usual than comfortable
            the buzz of contact and identity more potential than actual

            I go up to London to find bits of my true nature somewhere
            deep inside the forty four miles of time that has elapsed,

            past the same street boards advertising new plastic on trend,
            in even more colourful lime but now un-im-bleach-able;

            where grand gable and architrave stand cleanly revealed in all
            of their time from behind trimmed hedge, but window bay and

            fanned lintel remain obscured behind opportune ash (and
            where crickets rasp in raised lawn to ear level off the hill); on

            the hill² a crack in the front wall sinking century-ly downhill
            under sounds of jet somewhere in the sky hidden by dampening

            of leylandii; did I get baptised at All Saints Shooters Hill³,
            or did my brother, when the church was still young, its

            thousand panes held individual by lead, reflecting the
            cubist street, I don’t remember now – fractured memory;

            where sandstone is shaped short in modest Empire-control: in
            niche and ledge and decorative finial, during all the wind of

            cold streets, withstanding the new redbrick of decades; I
            cannot draw the line of brick at the corner of Bloomfield

            Road, true neither to hill nor sky nor shadowed underledge
            to the proud cornice (boundaries to distant-impossible crane)

            or even the sharp roofs clipped to lead-clad valley, let alone the
            ample iron downpipe … but I have learnt to write the architecture

            of odd alignment and cut-through alley; perched now against
            Ashlar Place at just the right angle between sun-wipe and shadow

            (shiny haloes in the indents on the page as I write Gurdwara
             Sahib Ramgarhia Temple⁴ in biro), the architecture of

            eternal Empire highlighted in gold with khandas blowing
            in the wind … still cannot obscure the luxury apartments in

            constant construct: -ING IS BELIEVING;⁵ buses come and
            buses go all along Woolwich New Road before the clapping

            troup of ‘Time for God’ angels and their families stood around,
            full of God’s immanent voices, in and out of sight and chant,

            (I have an old photo: a man crossing the road from Beresford
             Square⁶ with box suitcase in grey [and suggested brown] after

            apparent rain … when the retired newsagent passed by adding
            that he had run that shop opposite for thirty years, how –

            much – it – has – changed); perched, now, on the Metropolitan
            Drinking Fountain & Cattle Trough, oiled and crust stone

            from hide-breath and redundant exhaust; a mother and slinky
            daughter watch the marching bands pass from their third floor

            balcony, height of streetlight, defined before the upright
            sea of tarp covering the next block of the Royal Arsenal

            Riverside in construct (surprise!); ah, Lee Rigby,⁷ under height
            of Elliston House, these cars pass far too quick to get

            to their traffic, those beech trees opposite have grown to
            lean downhill for fifty years and more; I looked at every

            plaque, Mum, found plenty of Jeans and Margarets (and
            even Gladyss) but no Redfords, I can’t think I would have

            missed you sixteen years into other existences … I don’t
            know: I smiled at some of the plaques as I looked for you,

            I shall smile at everyone now that I haven’t found you

 

¹ this peice follows my last visit to London: walking downhill from Plumstead to Woolwich and around and back, driving to Eltham to where my mother (Jean Marguerite Redford 1933-1999, daughter of Gladys Charlotte Conlay 1906-1989) was cremated
² Eglinton Hill, early childhood home
³ All Saints Shooters Hill
⁴ Woolwich Gurdwara
⁵ woolwich new road and buildings
⁶ true nature II
⁷

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

architecture wormhole: ING IS BELIEVING
brown & love & red wormhole: when in Belgium do as the chocolates do
buildings & life & streets wormhole: gotcha
bus & sun wormhole: Christmas lights / around the lamp post
cars wormhole: portrait: / two pigeons
change & gold & Woolwich wormhole: ING IS BELIEVING
childhood & Nan wormhole: new garden
church wormhole: you can only smell the candles / when they have been snuffed out
compassion wormhole: [s]
crane wormhole: com- / mute
daughter wormhole: the retriever the daughter and the mother
death & writing wormhole: Poewieviews
Eglinton Hill & London wormhole: the breath of London
family wormhole: let’s have some ice creams
glass wormhole: ‘in clear oil air …’
grey & identity & time & trees & walls wormhole: walking through Lewes
hedge wormhole: the continental stride of trains
history & Mum wormhole: sit
lime & sky & stone wormhole: David Bowie – Iris
living wormhole: currency: / assent for statement – / ‘smakin’alivvin’
loneliness wormhole: ‘passing overhead …’
looking wormhole: Office at Night, 1940
mother wormhole: gre[wh]y / has Daddy left us?
passing wormhole: clouds
Plumstead wormhole: dream 260815
rain wormhole: “walking …”
rooftops & smile & streetlight wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
shadow wormhole: Seven A.M, 1948
society wormhole: the Growing Man
sound & wind wormhole: the open window
travelling wormhole: Compartment C, Car 193, 1938

 

ING IS BELIEVING

Tags

'scape, 2016, architecture, belief, buildings, change, gold, gurdwara, halo, khanda, page, the British Empire, wind, Woolwich, writing

                                shiny haloes in the indents
                                on the page as I write
                                ‘Gurdwara Sahib Ramgarhia
                                Temple’ in biro, the architecture

                                of eternal Empire highlighted
                                in gold with khandas blowing in
                                the wind … still cannot obscure
                                the luxury apartments in constant

                                construct:-ING IS BELIEVING

 

 

pr-extracted from ‘… finding my own true nature …’ V by way of apochryphy

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

architecture wormhole@ Office in a Small City, 1953
buildings & writing wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
change wormhole: if left alone
gold wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
wind wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana
Woolwich wormhole: Christmas lights / around the lamp post

 

deepening with each step

Tags

'scape, 2012, 6*, buildings, chimney, hills, houses, passing, poverty, the British Empire, time, Victorian houses, walking, walls, Woolwich

 

 

 

                walking downhill to Woolwich through Victorian terraces
                                built when the Empire was plentiful
                                the pillars and walls laid to rest now
                                              too poor to act
                while between the house ends cornices and junctions
                                the cross of new-build rising
                                and the hatch of chimneys and pediments preserved

                                              deepening with each step

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

buildings & walls wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
chimneys wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / and the waft of vipashyana
hills wormhole: … sshhh
houses wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
passing wormhole: the en-gentled / end of a wan / writing retreat
time wormhole: doing
Victorian houses wormhole: mlewisredford introductory complete life audit confessional
walking wormhole: … and
Woolwich wormhole: Beresford Square: // it’s alright it’s alright