I found this photo among clippings and quotations that Laura saved. The inscription on the wall says:
The hurt sky is weeping,
soaked nightingales have ceased to sing.
Dusk has come early. I am drowning in blue.
The photo is clipped from a June 2000 National Geographic and shows a walkway into the London Underground in the South Bank. I’ve discovered that the full poem is “Eurydice” by Sue Hubbard and was commissioned for this access to the subway. In Greek myth, the forlorn Eurydice tragically dies and her husband, Orpheus, descends to the underworld to retrieve her. The stanzas are placed along the walk with the apparent effect that the poem can be read in either direction, starting at street level or underground. The full poem follows:
I am not afraid as I descend,
step by step, leaving behind the salt wind
blowing up the corrugated river,
the damp city streets, their sodium glare
of rush-hour headlights pitted with pearls of rain;
for my eyes still reflect the half remembered moon.
Already your face recedes beneath the station clock,
a damp smudge among the shadows
mirrored in the train’s wet glass,
Will you forget me? Steel tracks lead you out
past cranes and crematoria,
boat yards and bike sheds, ruby shards
of Roman glass and wolf-bone mummified in mud,
the rows of curtained windows like eyelids heavy
with sleep, to the city’s green edge.
Now I stop my ears with wax, hold fast
the memory of the song you once whispered in my ear.
Its echoes tangle like briars in my thick hair.
You turned to look. . .
Seconds fly past like birds.
My hands grow cold. I am ice and cloud.
This path unravels.
Deep in hidden rooms filled with dust
and sour night-breath the lost city is sleeping.
Above the hurt sky is weeping,
soaked nightingales have ceased to sing.
Dusk has come early. I am drowning in blue.
I dream of a green garden
where the sun feathers my face
like your once eager kiss.
Soon, soon I will climb
from this blackened earth
into the diffident light.
4 responses so far ↓
1 Heather Coleman Arbeen // Jan 4, 2009 at 11:24 am
This post immediately brought to mind a favorite illustrated book of mine, and, undoubtedly, Laura’s as well. It’s the version of the story of Orpheus by Charles Mikolaycak. It wasn’t published until 1992, and both Laura & I were graduated from college at that point. But I don’t think it’s ever bothered either of us to purchase illustrated books from “the children’s section” of the bookstore. I dare say, that has always been a favorite section. I would not be surprised if you already have a copy in the house. But, a word of caution, this particular book is intended for “young adult” readers; Library Journal reccomends it for grades 9 and up.
http://special.lib.umn.edu/clrc/kerlan/mikolaycak_1.php#Orpheus
2 Mary Ann Payne // Jan 4, 2009 at 5:55 pm
I’ve been waiting for a Loosestrife post. . .
Alas, poor Orpheus did not have a Lily and a Naomi to protect him from descent into the underworld. But neither do they have the memory of the song once whispered in your ear, David.
Thinking and thinking of you.
3 Irene Bosch // Jan 5, 2009 at 1:41 am
David,
Great discovery on finding the whole poem!
I liked a lot that poem, it was very photographic, and reading through it brings very much Bostonian feelings too. As Boston can, at times, feel like London, cold, bleak, rainy, lonely .
We all, many times feel like going to the underworld, and always resurface from them, and sometimes to very blue skies.
That poem made me look more into the author’s Sue Hubbard website to read more of her work and I found her picture in it too.
http://www.suehubbard.com
There was something in that picture that reminded me of Laura, is was so strange…. I think it would be her eyes.
The eyes can speak as poems do. They are the soul of our face. They say it all.
I remembered Laura’s eyes seeing that picture of Sue. Maybe it was my imagination, but I invite you to see the big smile and warm eyes in the picture of the writer of that clip that Laura collected once.
Big hugs.
Irene.
4 Mary Ann Payne // Jan 5, 2009 at 1:46 pm
I totally agree with Irene–the eyes, yes, but also the smile.