Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

That’s what every city in the world should be, because they don’t have as much green as London does.  No, I don’t mean money, I mean real green, in the form of parks.

As I write this, I am sitting in my favorite of London’s parks, Regent’s Park.  In fact, I didn’t realize that it was my favorite until I ventured here, knowing that I needed to write about parks and wanting to get away from the city for a while without going far from the Arran House.  After consulting my A to Z, I found that we’ve been living for a month not 15 minutes away from one of London’s most beautiful parks, which is saying something, because London has some wonderful ones.  Of these, I have visited three, and they are probably London’s most famous: Regent’s, Hyde, and St. James.

I’ll start with Regent’s.  As I said, I came here needing to be somewhere quiet, and most importantly, green.  I love the outdoors, and was feeling like I hadn’t gotten enough of them while in London.  Regent’s quickly fixed that though.  Probably best known for its prominent role in the 101 Dalmatians and James Bond (MI6 is near the Park), Regent’s Park is situated on 410 acres in Marylebone.  Its perfectly trimmed flowerbeds, beautiful fountains, and huge open spaces are a breath of fresh air, literally and figuratively.  The one thing that really differentiates Regent’s from the other parks I will talk about is the lack of tourists.  Regent’s doesn’t have anything particularly special for tourists, as opposed to Hyde and St. James, so it is both less busy and quieter.  It also houses the London Zoo (yes, the one that Harry Potter went to in the first book), for any animal lovers out there.

Regent's Park

Next up is Hyde, or specifically Kensington Gardens, which is contiguous with Hyde, and is often thought of as part of the same park (technically its not… I also visited Hyde, and it’s much the same as the Gardens).  Like Regent’s, it features wide open spaces, fountains, and gardens.  However, it also contains Kensington Palace (which also serves as a shrine to Princess Diana), the world-famous Peter Pan statue, and the Prince Albert Memorial, which all attract a lot of tourists, which increases the “busyness” of the park, and changes its atmosphere.  It is still a very nice park, but it just doesn’t have the feel of Regent’s.

Peter Pan Statue in Kensington Gardens

Lastly, St. James Park.  Once again, lots of open space, water features, and flowers.  The big tourist attractions here completely surround the park, rather than being contained in it.  These include, but are not limited to, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace.  This brings a lot of people to the park which, while not a bad thing, makes it feel crowded, which is not how parks should be in my mind.  It is an absolutely beautiful park though, despite its well-publisized history of, well, err… you know.  For those that don’t, Edward II had dozens of children, none with his wife, and loved spending time in the park.  I’ll let you do the math.

To wrap up, I’d like to mention that London’s parks have really cool birds.  At Kensington and St. James, there are tons of brown geese and small little birds, pictures of which I’ve attached below.  At Regent’s though, they seem to have completely different breeds of birds, which you can also see below.  St. James also has pelicans, which I unfortunately don’t have pictures of.

I have no idea why the birds would be so different between one park and another, unless these birds were purposefully introduced to their respective parks, which would be a conclusion requiring an understanding of London parks history that I lack.  Anyone with more insight, please feel free to chime in.

Bird characteristic of the populations found at Regent's Park

Swan, characteristic of the bird populations at Kensington Gardens and St. James Park

Throughout this last month I have been to so many museums I have lost track of the number. However, within this plethora of museums there have been two that impressed me so much that I remember all the exhibits I saw within them.

The first museum that put me into a state of awe was none other than the Cabinet War Rooms. I first should mention that I am a war history buff. I love to learn everything that led to conflict, during the conflicts, and the general aftermath. Therefore, hearing that there was a museum specifically dedicated to the Cabinet that endured one of world histories most massive conflicts; it had my name written all over it. Once in there I expected to see the duplications of the map rooms, the bed rooms, kitchens, etc. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was a whole floor section dedicated to the life and death of Winston Churchill. In the history courses I have taken in the past we have always blown past Churchill’s contribution to the war as the British Prime Minister. (http://cwr.iwm.org.uk/) It was surprising to see his trajectory from child to leader of a country in a time of chaos, and how he came out on top. By far Winston Churchill has some of the best quotes in history. Some of which are:

“I always believed in staying in the pub until closing time”

“I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal to meet me is another matter.”

And my favorite….

“I have no more ambition… but to ease world tension, and pave the way for peace and freedom.”

Although all of this was completely amazing and I have never seen anything like this before it had Britain’s imperialism written all over it. They just needed to add at the end, “For the Glory of the Empire.” I think it is healthy for a government to show and flaunt its successes especially if it’s as great as surviving WWII.

The second museum that was just as amazing was the Victoria & Albert museum. Based upon its name I knew nothing of what to expect. Upon entering this enormous structure they call one museum I was taken aback by the amount of valuable items of history in one structure. Just to give you a little sense of what I saw I will write a small list of items. I saw sculptures and door fronts from the Medici family, paintings from the Renaissance era, gorgeous structures from the ancient Greek era, rugs from the Persian Empire, the Grace Kelly: Style icon exhibit, and lastly but certainly not least doodle notebooks from Leonardo Da Vinci himself.  There was so much more that I didn’t explore because my legs were tired. The Victoria & Albert could best be described as a building of world treasures.

No doubt, England did not get these invaluable items through benevolent methods but rather through force.  The fact that it is in one building open to public viewing free of charge almost negates the method it was gathered in. Again, this museum showed the British Monarchy’s greatness because it was able to conquer the greatness of all previous world Empires and display them in London.

The museums of London pay tribute to the greatness of the British Empire, what once was, and what the government hopes for it to be again.

Many of us have already talked ad nauseam about the rules governing Tube behaviour. No eye contact. All extremities and personal belongings to yourself. Never strike up a conversation with your fellow passengers (unless it is to moan about a delay or some noisome activity going on in a station).

However, we have also observed many exceptions to these rules, mostly in the form of young couples and Public Displays of Affection in varied locations and to varying degrees of intensity.

Beyond this, I have noticed that the LGBT community- particularly lesbian couples and cross-dressers/transgendered individuals- is extremely present here in London. As a group, they seem much more open and accepted here in London than some of the other cities I have been in. What the cause is, I don’t know- perhaps it has to do with the laws (I believe gay marriage is legal in England)?  As someone who has and has had LGBT friends, I heartily applaud the apparent acceptance the community enjoys here.

[From one of the LGBT London support sites: http://www.pinknews.co.uk/images/kulgbt.jpg]

Anyway, as I was making my way back to the Arran House one day, I had an encounter with a lesbian couple that broke almost all the English rules of behaviour (not THAT kind of encounter . . . don’t get too excited, gentlemen)

I was transferring from one line to another and noticed two women in front of me holding hands and I remember thinking to myself “Awww, how sweet. I wonder if they’re sisters? Or . . . are they a couple?” While the TV show The L Word may be set in Los Angeles, I have not seen many gay couples – particularly lesbians- who feel comfortable enough to openly express affection in public.

We ended up in the same Tube car and the only open seat happened to be next to one of them. The other, a heavier woman, sat opposite and, within seconds of the doors closing had started fighting with the teenage girl sitting next to her (who, interestingly, looked and sounded to be foreign, not White-British). I quickly assessed the situation: both women were black, but the heavier one (who clearly was the femme in the relationship) was strongly taking on the Angry Black Woman persona while her partner (who was very butch) didn’t interfere except to say, “Do you have a problem with my girlfriend?” The butch lesbian was the one sitting next to me, so I turned to her girlfriend sitting across from me and asked if she wanted to switch seats with me so they could sit together. She seemed very surprised and pleased that I had offered but declined- I think she wanted to make the person sitting next to her uncomfortable for a little while longer (she said as much herself) and then leaned over and kissed her girlfriend next to me. As she continued arguing with her neighbour and generally drawing attention to herself, her girlfriend sitting next to me struck up a conversation, asking where I was from. As it turns out, she had visited the States once and stayed not 10 minutes from where I grew up! When the train got to their stop, both women took hands (the heavier one glaring daggers at her antagonist- frankly, I couldn’t decipher what the cause of contention was but it sounded like the issue had arisen from the woman’s size – maybe taking up too much seat room? – her race or her obvious sexual orientation) wished me a pleasant stay in England and departed.

After they got off the Tube, the girl who had been fighting with the heavier woman glanced at me suspiciously and then looked away. I’m still not certain what my crime was, that I was talking to people on the Tube at all, that those people were lesbians, or that they were black. Perhaps a combination of all three.

Since that incident, I have seen several more obviously-lesbian couples and some obviously-cross dressing or transgendered men walking around on the streets. From what I have observed and experienced, it seems to me that the gay community here is much more open, much more free about expressing affection and- as I experienced on the Tube- much more willing to break with the established rules of English social behaviour. And yet, the irony is there were still the restraints of other behavioural roles – the gay persona as well as the racial persona- coming into play. Perhaps the moral is that all people – English, American, black, white, gay, straight, whatever – are always adhering to some expected social code. We can reject some and embrace others but one is always present and guiding our public behaviour.

As a dedicated people watcher, I found this whole experience and the attention it made me pay to individual couples just fascinating. I tried very hard in my relation of it to use as netural and widely accepted terms as possible, hoping to cause no offense to anyone on any account.

I have attended four shows in my time in London: The Merry Wives of Windsor, 39 Steps, the Habit of Art, and Les Miserables.  I have searched and searched to find a common thread that all four would have to define the theatre in England and have yet to come across it.  There are some thematic similarities (thank you very much Jesse for pointing out the cross dressing), but overarching commonalities that I could use to define London theatre are difficult to find.

The first play that we saw in London, The Merry Wives of Windsor, was understandably a tourist trap.  It was at the New Globe (a touristy place if I’ve ever seen one) and therefore, I had pretty low expectations.  I expected a good piece of slapstick Shakespeare and that is exactly what I got.  I got a “genuine” Shakespeare experience – I stood right by the stage, listened to flippant German teenage tourists mock the English actors, and got in a good laugh.  While there was some genuine real life Brits in line in front of us (I got to witness a queue-jumping situation that would have made Kate Fox dance with joy), I felt like I was not at a real English theatre event.

39 Steps was, for me at least, the most real English theatre I witnessed.  As it was a matinee, there were distinct groups of English people, namely a group from a convalescent home and a very large group of school children.  The audience was very much stiffly British and listening to the aid in front of me explain the humor to the most ancient woman I’ve ever seen made me feel the most immersed in British life I had been to that point.  The most telling sign that I was truly experiencing British theatre was the rampant irony used in 39 Steps – most of which, I would like to point out, completely went over my head (I only knew that something funny was going on by the chuckles of my fellow theatre goers).

The Habit of Art might not have made that much of impression on me simply because I did not enjoy it.  Like most theatre I’ve participated in back home, it struck me as an upper class audience out to enjoy a night of snobbishly intellectual theatre that they could go to a cocktail party and brag about.  I know that during our tour our guide pointed out how they try to make the theatre financially accessible to everyone, but it was not something that I felt the ordinary Joe could go into an enjoy.  The topic required some degree of literary knowledge, the humor was highbrow, and the audience was mainly fashionable and wealthy people who I would guess visit the theatre frequently.  Overall, I felt no real connection to either the play or my fellow audience members.

Les Miserables was perhaps my favorite piece of theatre.  While, like The Merry Wives of Windsor, it was definitely geared towards tourists, I finally felt like I was somewhere where half the humor (and there was not much humor to choose from) was not going over my head.  I could sit back, relax, pay attention to the lighting (thanks Rick!), and enjoy a night of good music.  I loved that Les Miserables was not attempting to be anything more than it was and because of that, I was able to loosen up and enjoy the show.

The four shows that I saw in London were all enjoyable and filled their own niche in the theatre community.  Together they said nothing grand or profound about British theatre but individually had a lot to offer in terms of cultural explanation.

While many of my fellow students have lamented in their blogs that they feel least comfortable and most like they have to behave like the British at pubs, I feel completely the opposite.  Yes, there have been some pubs that I’ve wandered into and definitely felt like I was completely out of place but I never felt like it was because I was an American – it was almost always because of my age.  The only time I have ever just left a pub because I felt so uncomfortable was after we went to the Globe and we were by far the youngest patrons to wander into this particular pub.  Besides that one instance, my experience with pubs has been overwhelmingly positive.

I openly admit that what I know about beer and cider could fit in a teacup.  I am most definitely no connoisseur of alcoholic beverages – I know what I think tastes good and what makes me wrinkle my nose and that is about it.  This lack of knowledge has led me to become one of those people who every time they walk up to the bar to order has to ask about every single one of the items on tap.  While I thought this would probably to trying to any bartender’s patience, I have found that so long as its done in a friendly manner pub workers are happy to help me find something that my undistinguished palate will enjoy.  I experienced the pinnacle of helpful bartender at The Court on Tottenham Court Road.  The last time I was there the bartender spent ten minutes with me just figuring out what exactly I would like and even though it was incredibly busy, she did not once look impatient or try to rush me along.  While I am clearly an American and completely uneducated on the finer points of British beverages I was treated with respect and patience and is exactly why The Court has become my favorite pub.

I have visited several pubs that I quite like – the George on Fleet Street, the Marlborough Arms, and the Rising Sun, to name a few, and they all have different positive qualities to recommend themselves to me (the George has Murphy’s, the Marlborough Arms is homey and the evening bartenders are friendly and recognize regulars, and the Rising Sun has a quintessentially British atmosphere).  However, while these are all good pubs with good drinks and friendly service, they are not great.  The difference for me, as an American, is the degree to which I feel continually welcomed.  At many of the pubs there is the sense that as a patron, while I am welcome to come and enjoy myself, I have an obligation to be quiet and to stay at my table and not mingle with the other patrons.  Kate Fox points out that pubs, unlike American bars, are not places to go meet new people, but even the possibility of accidentally interacting with anyone besides who is in my group is terrifying at most of the pubs I have been to.  And this fear is not reserved for me as an outsider – other English people are terrified to interact with their neighbors, even if it is an interaction as small as trying to fit through a small space to get to the counter.  At the Marlborough Arms I have seen patrons walk 15 feet out of their way to avoid asking people to scoot their chairs in 3 inches to get to the bar.  This is what makes The Court so unique.  Maybe it’s the loud American music always blasting from the speakers or the younger crowd that tends to frequent it, but The Court is a place where this “social dis-ease” is eradicated.  I do not have to live in fear of asking someone to scoot in so that I can get by (a lot of the time fellow patrons anticipate my journey by and move out of the way without prompting – a gesture that usually involves a friendly smile and a “cheers”) and where eye contact with someone I don’t know doesn’t make me a pariah.

I find pub culture absolutely fascinating and I am so sad that it took me so long to find a pub where I feel so at home.  My time in London has helped me develop an understanding of what exactly I need to do at a pub and how I ought to behave and I am hopeful that I’ll find a place in Norwich that proves to be just as friendly and light hearted as The Court.

When Henry VIII split from the Roman Catholic Church in 1534 after he instated the Act of Supremacy he had no real intention of actually repudiating Catholic ideals (for more information go here).  He maintained the highly ornamented and ritualized structure of mass and design of churches and chapels.  However, after he died and Anglicanism came into its own under his son, Edward VI, churches were stripped of their decorations and a strict and Spartan design was adopted.  While throughout Anglican history the form of worship and the tenets evolved with the monarch, Protestantism has maintained a more austere stance on the level of decoration within a church.  Catholicism, on the other hand, is famous (or in some schools of thought, infamous) for its lavish decorations, rich priestly garbs, and overall sumptuous appearance.  The pinnacle of this over-the-top wealth is the site of the Holy See – the Vatican is a treasure trove literally overflowing with priceless paintings, sculptures, and breathtaking frescoes.  Just like the Vatican – the center of Catholicism – St. Paul’s Cathedral (a central symbol of Anglicanism) is overrun with artwork, statues, and mosaics dedicated to celebrating the life of Christ.

When I first walked into St. Paul’s I was struck with the irony that this great cathedral presented.  I had expected Westminster to be decorated past the usual point of Protestant sobriety, after all it did start out as a Catholic church, and the same went for the Abby at Bath; I did not expect this from St. Paul’s.  The current St. Paul’s Cathedral, built by Christopher Wren, was never a Catholic church and so does not have this excuse to pardon its grandeur.  Instead of adhering to the typical ideals of a Protestant church (a lack of idolatry and an overall more simple and modest atmosphere), St. Paul’s rivaled any Catholic church (with the exception of the Vatican).  I was surprised by the overall un-Protestant nature of the Cathedral.  Everywhere I looked, in every spare niche, nook, and cranny, was ornamentation of some sort.   This highly structured aesthetic was not contained in just the architecture – evensong was a series of highly ritualized acts.  From the initial procession in (scepters and all) through the singing to the end with the parade out, the structure of the ceremony was both beautiful and archaic.  While I was sitting there I reflected upon the fact that the service I was listening to was sung in the same manner it was 400 years ago (with the exception on the presence of female deaconesses).  It was both a humbling and confusing experience.

On the opposite side of the expectations spectrum, the Catholic mass I attended was performed in a modern and simplistic manner.  The chapel was just a little side room in the Newman House – a building that would have been easy to miss just walking down the street save for the flags put up to celebrate the upcoming arrival of the pope – and the actual chapel itself was noticeably bare.  There were small figures marking the Stations of the Cross, a small and ugly bust of Cardinal Newman, an alter, and one painting of the Madonna and Child.  This was a far cry from the reputation of ornamentation that the Catholic Church is saddled with as well as a telling foil for the overwhelming décor of St. Paul’s.

This comparison and its ironic implications got me thinking about what exactly the difference is between the Cathedrals and Abbeys of the Church of England I’ve visited and the Catholic service I attended mean.  It seems to me that Christopher Wren was not focusing on designing a building that was a place to worship God and to adhere to a particular brand of faith – he was more creating a symbol of England at its most lavish time (we learned all about the excesses of Restoration England on yesterday’s walking tour) that would call out to all who saw it how great, mighty, and powerful England was and still is today.  It is less a place of worship for God than a hall of worship for England.  I have not visited any Anglican churches that are used as community places of worship instead of as monuments and I am curious to see if the local churches in Norwich have the same level of ornamentation or whether they adhere to a simpler, more Protestant appearance.

Probably because I get a little claustrophobic in cities, my visits to parks have definitely been some of the highlights of my time in London.  I enjoyed the sense of space, the people watching, and the sheer beauty of much of the landscaping.  However, I did pick up on a certain artificiality throughout London’s Green space.

First of all, the lakes, which are in most cases absolutely beautiful, provide variety in scenery, are home to so many (sometimes exotic looking) species of birds, and they also provide a fun and novel activity for those who choose to rent paddle boats.  In St. James Park, the bridge in the middle of the long, central pond is carefully positioned so that visitors can view Buckingham Palace in one direction and the London Eye in the other.  The sheer overcrowding of the birds (and their excrement), especially in St. James Park makes me slightly uncomfortable.  It seems as though London attempts to make up for the obvious lack of wildlife in the rest of its urban environment by crowding high quantities into small, carefully designated areas.   In the “wetlands” area in Regent’s Park, I noticed a rat basking by the water’s edge along side the usual variety of birds.  It goes to show I think, that it is impossible to completely keep out the less picturesque aspects of the city.

The gardens that I visited, and especially those in Regents Park  were absolutely beautiful.  Signs pointed out over twenty different species of roses, and everyone who I saw seemed to walk through slowly.  However, when I reflected on how often the grass must be cut, to keep it that short and the precise patterns in which the plants were arranged, the set up seemed more like a human achievement than natural beauty.  Hours of work daily clearly go in to maintaining the gardens.

Playgrounds in London’s parks also seemed equally controlled .  Every playground that I have seen so far is fenced in, and most do not allow people in unless they have children with them.  These playgrounds, which are often large and colorful, must be a welcome refuge to parents who live in the city and are accustomed to having to constantly watch their children in all public places.  They definitely reinforce my impression that London makes it a priority to provide leisure space, but only carefully controlled leisure space.

That said, anyone is free to walk into the vast majority of London’s parks.  People from all walks of life go there, though it is not a place to interact with strangers.  It is socially acceptable to be alone, with large groups of friends or family, or anything in between.  In many there is enough space to talk loudly, but I was able to find somewhere quiet in Regents Park to sit and read a book.  Maybe all of the control allows for a greater sense of freedom.

St. James Park (Personal Photo)

Hyde Park (personal photo)

About two weeks into our time here, I had a phone conversation with my mother that I found to be very interesting. I was going along and recounting some of my adventures when she interrupted me, saying “That’s great, Elizabeth, but don’t talk to any more English people.”

Puzzled, I asked, “What do you mean?”

“I can barely understand you as it is!” she replied.

After some explanation I understood that she meant I had picked up an English accent and was speaking to her in it, to which I responded “No I haven’t!” and then heard myself, sure enough, dropping my h’s and generally sounding like a lifelong Londoner.

Now this isn’t really very surprising, knowing me. Back home, I frequently slip into different accents for a variety of reasons: I have a really good ear for accents (which served me well for acting), I grew up around a variety of different accents (Californian/valley girls, a father from New England, a grandmother from Arkansas) and I watch/listen to far too much BBC. Picking up an accent while in England is the natural progression for me.

Around my American friends, I don’t notice it much, if at all. I’ve changed the way I say certain words, such as con-TRI-bute instead of con-trib-ute. But I start slipping into English speech rhythm and sounds much noticeably around the natives (let’s face it: we’ve all been saying “sorry” differently). Then, what, I wonder, is the explanation for it popping out so strongly when I talk to my parents? Am I just a particularly adept mimic? Do I want to show off a bit for them? Or am I somehow fulfilling the dream closest to my little Anglophile-heart? Am I BECOMING English?

[Photo from: http://winandwinnow.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/win-and-winnow-american-british-english.gif]

This afternoon a barman told me a story about his pub.  He said that in the corner across from where I was sitting Charles Dickens wrote his novels (he didn’t elaborate further) and that on the top floor 1800’s government officials came up with legislation.  There is history, he said, in this place.  It’s too bad that I’d seen exactly the same decor and menu in three other London pubs.

It’s no secret that modern London’s pubs are mostly corporate-owned and operated.  I’ve been to maybe fifteen and there have been four or five structural models that each follow- each one corresponding to a different corporate owner (Young’s, Fuller’s, etc.).  While each pub in any given structure has its own name, they’re all, in actuality, links in the corporate chain.  There are pros and cons to this little situation.  The food that the pubs churn out is relatively low priced and consistently good quality.  The regulations within the corporate structure make sure of that.  The pubs themselves are, usually, well-maintained in terms of cleanliness and furnishings.  They give off airs of old-country quaintness and warmth.  Those are the pros.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lastrounds/429522540/

The cons are a little bit more subtle.  The pubs are warm and the seats are comfortable.  The music is American.  The bartenders are Bulgarian and Italian.  I don’t know if it’s a fair complaint to make, but it seems like these pubs are much more Ruby Tuesday’s than Leaky Cauldron (for all you Harry Potter fans).  The authenticity seems to have been drawn out as the corporate model has taken hold.  When I think “London pub” (or, thought, before I got to know the city) the images conjured are more rugged and organic than what I see now.  It’s not that I have anything against cleanliness or order.  I just expected the neighborhood pubs to be visually representative of the neighborhoods themselves.  Instead, they seem to be systematically reproduced molds of what is perceived to be “authentically English”.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but if “authenticity” becomes something striven for, quantified, and fabricated, doesn’t it cease to be authentic?

London has been a city inspiring to writers in every era since it was a Roman colony. I was hoping I would experience this side of London, the London of Chaucer, Dickens, and Jack London, who was an American writer inspired by both the grace and grit of London’s streets. I was not disappointed. Here are three unedited poems I have written so far in London.

The first poem was clearly written after our trip to the Proms at Royal Albert Hall. I was struck by the interaction between the audience and the musicians, something pretty much unseen at classical concerts in the US.

Concert Night

On a summer’s eve in Albert Hall

The second trumpet player slowly grew a beard

The cellos moaned a melody of courtly love

Somewhere in the balcony a woman coughed

The children felt sleepy

A flute missed a note

And in the background the bass drum

Sat quietly

Waiting to release

Its

Potential.

The next poem is a little rougher. It was based off an exhibit I saw at the Tate Modern and heavily influenced by the massive amount of theatre I have seen in the past few weeks. The instillation I am refereeing to was a big ruffled red theatre curtain that was closed and would never open. It was interesting, especially when juxtaposed to the lively theatre community in London. This one does not have a title yet.

What is behind the curtain that will never rise

In the theatre of what-will-be?

Maybe there is already a play of sorts

Running in the darkness behind the thick velvet curtain

And we will see nothing but this thick velvet curtain

And wonder if you can ever truly lay with beauty

But not realize that

The world is a stage and beauty is a motif of love

And all the while behind the curtain

(that is the opposite of transparent )

The silence goes unbroken

And the audience listens to make sure

That the only little soliloquy barely being breathed

Was inside themselves

The last poem is the ubiquitous East End during the Victorian era poem. I was especially interested by the church that until recently was the center of drug addiction in the area. The allusion to the church in the poem is based on that one. Also talking with some members of the Jack the Ripper tour group about the history and looks of that area helped me to write this.

Visions of White Chapel

All covered with shit and spit and stale beer

Whose alleyways were filled with misery and decay

Where even the churches hunch and cower

To keep their bells below the skyline

And there is no place like London

Where the underground ends and the streets

Lay barren below fog and soot

And here are the seamen, drunk on rum

Here are the cock-sure wretches of night

Here are the ladies with thighs so red

Here are the hopes of London

Poured with relish

Into the

Street

Cheers!