BRIDGE OVER THE ITCHEN

Posted by Admin on Saturday, 12th April 2008, 00:00

Learning I’d not seen the bridge, my driver
took me riverwards – conveyed me to that
marge where formerly, in days made bright with
hope and ersatz love, the fettered ferries
plying to and fro effected meetings –
witnessed those charades you played to send me,
levitated, home-bound to the Royal Pier.
Arcuate, it soared athwart an azure
August sky, its ratio of load to
size precisely gauged to make one marvel
at its grace and lack of bulk – a span that
well might serve to stage superb finales
of Das Rheingold.
Standing there, with slender curves consummate
high above, recalled too vividly that
fateful afternoon when Itchen mocked with
its placidity – evoked the futile
wait which cracked the structure of my faith – that
anxious vigil which, for me, uncovered
your duplicity.
Dream of artist-engineer, its niveous
arch exhilarated – brought aesthetic
satisfaction and tranquillity of
mind – obliterated for a while all
thought that nought will ever bridge the
gulf which separates our lives.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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