I might write a poem about this…

Byron Vincent
Tuesday, January 20th, 2009

Yesterday I overheard a conversation between some nondescript accents in designer knitwear. They’d’ once inadvertently ventured into St Pauls and even though nothing bad had actually happened to them, were vociferously exploring their shared trauma. They were discussing how edgy and unfamiliar it felt to them. They used ebulliently embroidered language to paint a dark and alien landscape from which they were lucky to escape with their ipods or even there lives. From their tone it was difficult to tell which they valued the most.

I don’t really mean to mock them; I understand that they only spoke of the differences because familiarity is less conspicuous, less remarkable. I just found it funny how if the societal consensus is to be fearful of a thing, our behaviour around it can be bit daft.

This afternoon I was passing the primary school in St Pauls. It was play time and the sun had cast an enriching incandescent gold over the playground. I remembered the conversation I’d heard yesterday and it struck me that the sun shines just as brightly here as it does over Bristol’s more affluent enclaves. Laughter was forcing cold breath into fractals here, just as it does in the private schoolyards of Clifton. The chill stripped trees are just as naked and skeletal here as elsewhere. Birds still sing. Hearts still beat. People still love and worry and shit and dream, just as they do everywhere else.

And as I was pondering this, I suddenly became aware that I’m thirty three year old man, alone, quixotically staring at a playground full of kids.

I got out of there sharpish.

It’s funny how if the societal consensus is to be fearful of a thing, our behaviour around it can be bit daft.

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Byron Vincent

  1. Charlie
    January 20th, 2009

    33? But you only looked about 23 on the retreat, it’s all that Bristolian sunshine and warm cola in reggae pubs:)

    Reply


  2. Jay Bernard
    January 21st, 2009

    Gosh, yeah, I thought you were younger too.

    I had a similar experience once, and, when I think about it, I’ve had it many times since; I often find myself staring at kids or even teenagers, wondering what kind of people they are or will grow up to be. This one time I was taking pictures for a crappy art project and I threw them in the bushes then went snapping away. Within seconds, some mother had arrived to ask what on earth I was doing. Well, I was seventeen at the time using a manual slr and so blatantly not what she expected, that even she was a little taken aback. But her approach had caught the attention of other mothers so I moved away sharpish. It’s kind of a shame.

    Reply

    Byron Vincent Reply:
    January 22nd, 2009 at 2:42 pm

    Yeah I can’t really explain my baby face, other than the fact my father was an elf and my mother was Michael J Fox.

    It is a sad thing that we live in such neurotic times; I suspect it’s something inherent in human nature to construct collective symbols to direct our fears towards. It used to be that those symbols where abstract religious concepts. I don’t think there is a massive chasm between arbitrarily suspecting that someone might be a terrorist to randomly accusing someone of being possessed by demons. Sometimes it feels like we don’t evolve at all, its just our references that change.

    Also, I’ll send you a check and sae next week:-)

    Reply


  3. Lucy
    January 21st, 2009

    Eloquent, poignant and amusing. I love how laughter was forcing cold breath into fractals. I wonder if cursing or complaining provokes other patterns.

    Reply


  4. Debbie
    March 27th, 2009

    Tell me, would you be interested in reading a poem I’ve written about living in different parts of Bristol? The vulgarity of living in central Bristol in the 70s? It might lead you on to look at not only the differences between suburbia/ city and countryside – but also the terrifying differences between the city by day and the hell by night… Interested?

    Reply

    Byron Vincent Reply:
    May 8th, 2009 at 3:33 pm

    Sorry its taken me ages to reply, I’ve been experiencing technical problems. I’d love to read your poem. If you’d like to email it to me at gadflyarts@hotmail.com that’d be grand.

    Thanks Debbie.

    Reply


  5. Geraldine Collinge
    March 27th, 2009

    I’d like to read it. Why don’t you post it? Or you could mail it to geraldine@applesandsnakes.org

    Reply

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