A City under Construction

[TheFifthElement]

In 1996 Manchester City Centre was destroyed in an IRA bomb. Eleven years on the destruction continues.





A City under Construction

A bright flag flaps in the wind, and
above the sky is a grey sheet
pierced and clipped like a
giant paper snowflake.
Cranes punctuate the skyline,
exclaiming, hyphenating and
everywhere adding to the growing
mass of glass, and steel, and bricks
that redefine the city. Builders
congregate on the streets with
fat yellow hats and no sense
of urgency, erecting barriers,
demolishing piecemeal.
The jackhammers’ relentless cry
rises above the traffic.
I miss the old city;
with its soft maternal glow,
its fallen arches, and wrinkled
pavements. There was always
warmth to be found amongst
the ramshackle streets,
and buildings that sagged
into a crooked smile.
But now that smile’s been fixed
beneath the surgeons knife,
and I shiver at the sight of it.

[Sweets America]

Oh, I love this poem!!
Your poems have something 'different', it might come from the subjects you write about or your style, I don't know. Talking about steel, glass and such seems cold somehow, but then you bring feelings into it, by talking about the old city. I like the fat yellow hats, and the closing line. I like how you humanize the old city. This makes me think of the desperation and sadness of a man in front of a woman who has had plastic surgery, and the man thinks of how much more beautiful she was before, even though she or the rest of the world didn't see it.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I'm especially touched by these extraordinary lines:


I miss the old city;
with its soft maternal glow,
its fallen arches, and wrinkled
pavements. There was always
warmth to be found amongst
the ramshackle streets,
and buildings that sagged
into a crooked smile.
But now that smile’s been fixed
beneath the surgeons knife,
and I shiver at the sight of it.[/I][/CENTER]

Wonderful how the seemingly objective description of material objects of the city becomes in the end a lament for something as animate as a lost beloved relative.

[TheFifthElement]

Thank you Sweets America and Prince Myshkin -I had the rare opportunity to look out of the window at work on Friday, and I didn't like what I saw. What I was trying to express here was the sadness of a city which has been lost, which used to feel like a loved old friend but now is cold, homgenous and impersonal. It seems that you both picked up on this with these comments :


This makes me think of the desperation and sadness of a man in front of a woman who has had plastic surgery, and the man thinks of how much more beautiful she was before, even though she or the rest of the world didn't see it.


Wonderful how the seemingly objective description of material objects of the city becomes in the end a lament for something as animate as a lost beloved relative.

Thank you both for this.

[Pendragon]

But now that smile’s been fixed
beneath the surgeons knife,
and I shiver at the sight of it.

Power ending, and yet another pylon! Visual poetry seems to fit you very well, Fifth. Your poems are strong and well-worded, and yet you build these clever pylons with them without a trace of a forced word. Amazing!

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[TheFifthElement]

Thank you Pen, you are always so kind.

I'm beginning to get worried. What if I can't write a poem that doesn't look like a pylon. :eek:

[dibyendra]

In 1996 Manchester City Centre was destroyed in an IRA bomb. Eleven years on the destruction continues.





A City under Construction

A bright flag flaps in the wind, and
above the sky is a grey sheet
pierced and clipped like a
giant paper snowflake.
Cranes punctuate the skyline,
exclaiming, hyphenating and
everywhere adding to the growing
mass of glass, and steel, and bricks
that redefine the city. Builders
congregate on the streets with
fat yellow hats and no sense
of urgency, erecting barriers,
demolishing piecemeal.
The jackhammers’ relentless cry
rises above the traffic.
I miss the old city;
with its soft maternal glow,
its fallen arches, and wrinkled
pavements. There was always
warmth to be found amongst
the ramshackle streets,
and buildings that sagged
into a crooked smile.
But now that smile’s been fixed
beneath the surgeons knife,
and I shiver at the sight of it.

Wow Fifth that was such a vivid expression written so nicely. That was really moving one and I enjoyed every part of it. Thanks for sharing such a wonderful poem Fifth. Keep up your good work ! :thumbs_up

Dibyendra

[TheFifthElement]

Thank you Dibyendra for your kind comments.

[firefangled]

I had a similar comment to as Sweets America. This is so like women especially who put make-up on their faces or endure the pain of surgery to project a false beauty that is not them. This is artfully worde from the first thought of a paper snowflake, always an imitation of the authentic.