Thursday, January 20, 2005

Seven cities

"You saw such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands"
T S Eliot, Preludes III

"Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry against it"
Jonah 1 ii


On Malvern Hill, I looked across the peopled plain;
I lay down to rest and, sleeping, dreamt a dream.


It is the evening of the world,
And it will soon be night.

In the suburbs of the world,
The dormitory countries,
The remnants of the green belt,
The crickets sing at sunset.
They need no sleep, no sun; they only sing.

Here in the busy city,
We also need no sun:
For we have neon, sodium,
And furnace fires always lit.
And as for sleep,
We do not sleep.


The razor-blade dawn slashes the night canvas
Yellow-white light stabs through
The dawn chorus of cups of tea rings out.

Did you feel the buildings shiver?
Facades are streaked with soot;
Blank windows cry carbon tears.

An echoing roar heralds the march
Of the smoke-screen maker,
The silver arrowhead, the frozen bird,
The jet, across the burning sky.

Did you see the girls in summer clothes?
They stretched out lazily on lawns and benches,
Chatting through the molten hours.

The town hall clock has stopped again
Only shadows move across its face.

Did you hear the rattle of the goods train in the night?

Domes and steeples, tower blocks and pylons,
shine in silhouette against the city glow.

Did you read the news today?
Or did you make a headline when you died?


I heard the choir of angels; I heard them in the halls,
And they echoed in the streets:
Yes, I heard them in a dream.

I heard them when awake; I heard them in the dawn,
But only on the radio:
They were not living, were not here.

Unclimbed stairs echo; the elevator falls,
Blinking its lights as it passes the floors.
Will we stop? Will we rise? Will we rise again?

The shroud sticks: a curtain wall without a window.


We have been cast out from the temple
How are we to enter once again?

We are not here to live, here in the city,
We are here to collect our rations in a line

We are in the egg of the phoenix
We feel the heat of flames

We are the ashes, we are the embers;
We shall fly, we shall grow again -
We will burn again.


Above the traffic noise I heard a voice
Did someone smile, did someone love,
Among the millions?

I love them all, each one, even those I do not know,
But one especially - an intimate communion.


In the dormitory countries, they sleep to the sound
Of crickets singing.

Here, we do not sleep (we do not need to)
We hear no singing (we cannot hear)
And yet we live, until we die,
And then we cease to live among the crowds.

It is the night-time of the world
But in the city there is no night;
Where there is no night there can be no end
World without end

Martin Locock, 1984

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