History

Poem 285 – Haunted London

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Squint and you’ll see them loiter.
Walk these streets and listen.
Stop. Do not rush on by.

Amongst the tower blocks
the shades of London past
live on. Their ghosts haunt us.

Observe attentively
As first a wall appears,
And then facades and plaques.

Street names, spectres, pointing
To past possession, occupations
And entertainment of old.

Hidden beneath the pavement
The ancient rivers meander,
Living memories.

They whisper stories, as
They wash on by, depositing
Time’s flotsam in their wake.

Scavenging mudlarks scour
The Thames, whilst Wren
Designs the city skyline.

Queen Liz sits on the throne,
As Dickens walks the slums,
And Shakespeare stalks the Globe.

Today these shade still walk
Amidst harried commuters
And trigger happy tourists.

Walking home from a show at The Globe today I was struck once more at the many layers of our capital.
(07.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 227 – The Fall of Rome

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Stationed near straight Ermine Street
your cold grip held us in your thrall.
You thought you were invincible,
standing on guard, so stern, so still,
but now you lie absorbed beneath
the nettles, the land reclaims its own.
Once you boasted of great empire,
today you sink neglected and alone.

On the 6th Day of Christmas, we went for a walk around the sculpture trail in Broxbourne Woods, a much frequented trail when our children were little. Sadly, time has had its toll. Some of the statues are missing, and others, like the Roman Soldier, have fallen.
(31.12.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 168 – The Week’s Weft & Warp

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Weft
The Ayatollah screams, in ’89,
his cruel fatwa over Rushdi, judgement
upon his blasphemous work. In contrast,
proud fist raised in 90, Mandela stands
defiant, tasting freedom. His smile disarms.

Warp
Go back. In ’83 bold scoundrels snatch
Shergar from underneath our noses, boldly
driving their horsebox to his door. Go further.
In ’52, the King is dead. A princess
is lost in Kenya, long live our new found Queen.

This week winds back and forth, its tapestry
an intertwining web. Created by
its stitches, we’re not free but bound and shaped,
informed and influenced, held by its threads.
However, choice exists; we choose which strands
to trace and which to weave for those to come.

Inspired by the BBC’s ‘This Week in History’ earlier this week (8-14th February).
(11.02.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by hp koch on Unsplash

Poem 91 – Thin Places

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In this place, borders smudge allowing seepage
Between our ancient fathers and ourselves
History collapses to a single point
Connections forged through timeless stones and paths
Peripheral vision glimpses walkers who
Accompany us as we follow their parade
Across symbolic landscapes forged by hand
Our feet superimposed upon their prints
The air is heavy, tingling static charge
Compelling boulders, dense with gravity
We may not understand their meaning yet
Somehow they bind us with a common bond

A couple of years ago we visited Avebury. As with visits to other ancient site such as Stonehenge, I was struck by the sense of the immediacy of the place, a connection across the millennia with many who had trodden the same paths.
(15.02.22)

© Ben Quant 2022