Ποιειν Και Πραττειν - create and do

Anne Born

                 

                  Anne Born introduced by Sophia Yannatou

 

The Freeman

I made the Lord Chamberlain a promise

to lead a moral life! Not as a foundry slave

but in my father's Founder's Company

even if my pen and its produce

seem nearer to the Stationers' livery.

 

The freedom of the City: a square mile

of money along golden streets?

Towers built with credit shine and shout

out of the mouths of executives

dodging execution by bomb or board.

 

The river flows under London Bridge

where crowds still flood at high tide

morning and evening. Flesh over bone

marches over the bones of bomb victims,

crunches new-shattered glass underfoot.

 

Now the City seems safe though its foundations

rest on the fertile mud of Londinium

that's slung around overground and under.

But no one's free to take without payment,

to keep the index rising needs hard labour.

 

Still, we can walk these streets

cluttered with history, crime and ceremony

on feet that move without machinery,

write poems in ink as well as lazer print.

Think about freedom of the heart.

 

City Rivers

 

Rhine and Tiber

Thames and Seine

Maas and Danube

 

flowing ways

carved from earth

still strong enough

 

to dwarf the blocks

we've raised along

their flanks

 

Castle and mansion

palace and forum

market and theatre

 

cathedral, boulevard

warehouse and bridge

quay and factory

 

Rivers rise higher

after storm

to flush cellars

 

and teach the power

of great waters

heavier than fire

 

and never still

Reflections

last longer

 

than bricks and stone

generations, money

unnatural history.

 

 

Flow Cycles

 

Rivers that flow through cities

recall headwaters and rushes

lowing cattle, scent of hay and corn

country towns stone-walled at centre

bungaloid skirts edged with new industry.

 

In cities they load cargoes

carry ferries, float spars,

trolleys, feathers and bobbing bottles.

Offer rest to tired bodies

who want the lull of water.

 

Rivers slide round cutwaters

muscled as lions, full-blooded

filter foulness, take it mourningly

to sea. Fight for freshness,

give themselves to clouds.

 

Rise from their beds

time after time

make way for the past

in a watery reincarnation

while older vapours fall

as replenishing sources.

 

Anne Born

 

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