by Richard Vince

Even though a river replaced
The railway and gardens between
Me and the distant castle,
I realise now that I was
Dreaming of Princes Street.

I only ever joined in the
Middle somewhere, so I still
Know not where it begins
And ends; it occupies some
Infinite length between
Haymarket and Leith Walk,
Neither more than a hidden
Snapshot in my memory.

Why this confusion of capitals?
What made my mind mix
The contemptibly familiar with
The enticing unknown?

I wish I understood my mind

Memories of melodrama at
Second hand occasionally
Revisit my perversely amused mind,
Marking a change from
Some uncaring, detached,
Uncouth form of pity.

All those mysteries that
Remain unilluminatedÂ…
My pondering contradicts my
Self instruction not to care.
I know it is best this way,
But wish it didnÂ’t have to be.

I hope you have left behind
Desolation and found the gardens
That my dreams misplaced:
They and their famous city
Are not for the likes of me.


Posted on 08/28/2006
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Michelle Angelini on 08/28/06 at 10:15 PM

I've always love the ethereal nature of your poems. Here you are more introspective. Quite a change. Maybe cities are meant to be pondered, because those who live there are part of its personality and characteristics.

Posted by Laura Doom on 08/29/06 at 05:05 PM

Mis/displacing railways for rivers must be a good thing :> Perhaps capitals introduce a semblance of control where it seems there is none? Whatever, this was spoken so quietly that, even in the midst of desolation, I felt an unfamiliar serenity :)

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/16/06 at 03:53 PM

You are a true Brit! This reminds me of some children's fiction novels written by British author, Cooper (I think!) They were a series of fantasy fiction dealing with a boy going back in time as I recall. Excellent plots! Of course, your poem is more sophisticated in its pyschological tone.

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