A break in the monotonous day
From Eclipse Street we step through philanthropic doors
Flanked by grandly composed declarations in marble
Of generosities – we talk and think thanks under-tongue,
Inward, least spoken gratitudes, slight quips of breath,
Marked for Octavius and Passmore –
Such men may never grace the Lodge again!
Engineers wrought plastic art to break the great wall
Between Library and Education, Dream and Occupation,
And we stride past catalogued shelves,
Through carousels of earnest commendation –
A civilian copse of titles chanted –
Light from flourished stairwell glass defies eclipse
And austerity dries the lips of book-worn maids
Outcast by despots of digital modernisation –
I stand-to and seek a face, recognition,
A faded eye, one who,
From some distant exchange long-passed,
Mouths ‘Hello!’ over supervisory epaulette –
We each blink a question, resign
Response, accountants cluck, indicators
Flicker, Time consumes librarian-prey,
And marks threaten a second already
Blemished sheet ‘Upstairs!’ I turn away!
The stairs pass borough arms stained by donor’s will,
Each Cornish town’s tale etched in mystic creature
And Herald’s bridges, castles, harbours, fields –
At halfway first-floor-landing Cornish light illumines
Cornish cities set in Victorian glass, they flood ‘Old School –
Trurra Tech!’ and its young artisans’ technical minds –
Masterly voices echo times’-table and foreign verbs
Decline in shadow – outside, disappointment grasps eclipse,
Imperious spires disperse suited toe-capped officials
And coffee-chatty-patent-heeled shop assistants.
Still the fear of established church,
The faithless might again
Erect druidic stones and clasp
The star’s satanic hand and dance – but……
These boroughs’ stamps impress our cards,
A photographic light of pinhole failure
Brightens, order shrouds we sheep, our fold –
The town returns to cold stairs climbed,
Colleagues gather in the Medium Room:
We begin our essential discourse of process –
Lights in salaried hearts flicker, hangovers
Wash over brown memories between trees
Through tumbled inner woods, talk turns
To technicalities, we trade our bargained time.