Bristol“I must not press the subject of poetry upon you, only do not lose the feeling and the habit of seeing all things with a poet’s eye: at Bristol you have a good society, but not a man who knows anything of poetry.” (The poet Robert Southey in a letter to the sometime-Bristolian poet and scientist Humphry Davy.)Bristol
“Bristol, whose grey streets which seem, in spite of endlessly being resurfaced with fresh coats of congealed tar by gloomy workmen deceptively brightened in their jackets like vibrant oranges and lemons (say the bells of St Mary Redcliffe) in the congealing air; where was I – ah, whose grey streets which seem to be the gri
An Hour upon the StageLife’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.An Hour upon the Stage
William Shakespeare.
1
I stood at the graveside beside a man I did not know, my eyes cast downwards. In the grave lay an object that once was human: a young woman. Her curtain had fallen with no saving deus ex machina nor any justifying denouement. Withdrawn entirely from reality, but for the simulacrum of her remembered self reënacting past scenes; intangible projections from the memory flickering before my
Bristol
all the best. x
--
sweet berries ready for two // ghosts are now waiting for you
--
-waiting For Godot-
--
Take my hand in the old "Theatre of seven hells"
Previous Page123Next Page