I stepped beyond... The station's bounds Familiar streets before me Familiar for but a brief time Bishopsgate - should take me to... I'm no longer sure Familiar is not Familiar any more The river's over there Fenchurch is that way... I think... Now I see clearly But I'm on the southern bank And I don't know... How did I get there? Iron bascule bridge Glass windowed control room I don't remember this in the waking world Hooded figures pass close Shadowed in a fifties smog As I cross a muddied waste Building or other works make for mud on my boots And I slide Helpless in the morass I can see the cranes now, Servicing the ships Heavy rivetted glory making Iron monuments to industry Tidal inlets grounded in its slime Is this my London? Or Yesterday's? Or Tomorrow's? Convoluted half-truths Of a sometime history? Am I just a visitor? To a city that never sleeps?
Martin Addison – 05/05/2022
This is an attempt to put in writing a dream that I experienced last night. It was a weird dream but at no time was it scary – just really strange. I felt like I had fallen into my own Neverwhere – into a London that exists beyond what I normally see. Unfortunately, the words can’t do justice to the vividness of the dream.
What a complex dream, Martin! I think you translated it very well!
Dreams are a minefield to write about and I think a poetic form is probably the best way. Often there are only fragments recalled the next morning anyway😎