Posts Tagged Poetry
National Trust to open fourth Wordsworth house in the Lake District
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on November 16, 2011
Fire at Allan Bank triggers plan to create a new sort of visitor attraction at the villa which the poet once described as a 'temple of abomination'. He warmed to it later.
The National Trust is planning to make the best of what initially seemed to be a bad job, by opening a fourth Wordsworth house in the Lake District.
Whether the poet himself would have approved is another matter. He suffered endless problems with smoking chimneys at Allan Bank on the edge of Grasmere, and also wrote of it as a 'temple of abomination' when it was built in the middle of his view from Dove Cottage.
Time has long since mellowed the 1805 Georgian villa but in March it was badly damaged by fire. Repairs are now pretty much finished and the Trust has decided to open the house to the public from the end of next March. For years it had been let to tenants although you could, and still can, take plenty of lovely walks in its grounds.
Allan Bank is doubly special to the NT as later owners included Canon Hardwicke Rawnsley, co-founder of the trust which has just celebrated reaching the astonishing total of four million members. He was a tireless campaigner who frequently wrote to the Manchester Guardian about such other abominations as Manchester Corporation's attempt to compensate for flooding the nearby valley which is now Thirlmere reservoir, by planting distinctly out-of-place shrubs in the wild landscape.
The Trust is holding a couple of open events at the house on Wednesday 23 November (10am-midday) and Saturday 26 November (1-3pm) to launch a process of involving anyone and everyone in how the house is to be shown. Although currently an empty shell, Allan Bank has evidence of past decoration including what appear to have been stencil patterns in the Wordsworth's bedroom (one of eight; it is quite a substantial place).
Research since the fire has also shown that the walls changed from cream to stone to a yellowy sandstone and then back to cream during the 206 years since a Liverpool merchant, John Gregory Crump, used his 'new money' to construct Wordsworth's abomination. Window frames have been variously black, red and off-white and samples of all the colours will be on show at the open events.
Allan Bank's First curator, Sarah Woodcock, says:
Initially it will be like visiting an empty property when you're buying a house, and we hope that people will come up with all the ideas you tend to have on occasions like that. For ourselves, we are thinking about somewhere which feels open and full of opportunity, and perhaps encourages the sort of reflections which the Wordsworths and Canon Rawnsley had when they were here.
The gardens will be an extra attraction, with evidence in letters that Wordsworth took a hand in designing a special 'viewing tunnel' and placing stone seats at vantage points overlooking the stupendous view. One of the main windows frames the little island in Grasmere whose proposed sale prompted Hardwick to come up with the concept of the National Trust. He left the house to the Trust when he died in 1920, but with a lifetime's tenancy for his second and much younger wife who only died in 1959.
Allan Bank's association with fire and smoke also saw a large wing at the rear of the house burn down in the 1950s. But historically and in terms of the mainetenance budget, this was a blessing in disguise as it wasn't there in Wordsworth's day.
The other two Wordsworth homes apart from Allan Bank and Dove Cottage are his birthplace in Cockermouth and Rydal Mount, down the valley from Grasmere.
Save a great London poetry landmark
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on November 4, 2009
The Waterloo installation of Sue Hubbard's poem Eurydice was a very successful, and very popular, piece of public art. Why on earth has it been painted over?
What is it with poetry and subterranean London? Poets always seem to be spiralling down, descending, recovering and returning. Are we running away from some loss above or retrieving something from below? Poets seem to find such echoes inescapably poignant. One public piece of poetry certainly showed Londoners share these powerful feelings.
In early October 2009, Time Out suggested one of the unmissable features of London was the poetry installation in the Waterloo underpass where, en route to the Imax, you could walk past Sue Hubbard's poem "Eurydice".
Taken from her collection Ghost Station, it is a poem painted on the tunnel walls which raids the tale of Orpheus and his wife, but puts Eurydice centre stage, and Hubbard's poem subverts the tale, where the female narrator actually seems to yearn for separation and takes pleasure in her underground journey and sojournment. The power of the piece doesn't lie in Orpheus's extraordinary rescue but in a kind of female withholding. Hubbard's Eurydice almost demands her descent and exults in it. I think she really loves the tunnel more than Orpheus; he's never named, he's purely a lover's memory. You can read the full text here.
Painted in a font called Disturbance (surely a typographer's secret pleasure), this installation was a public art collaboration between Hubbard and the distinguished architect Bryan Avery. The poem was commissioned by the Arts Council and the BFI to make the experience of taking the tunnel from Waterloo to the Imax Cinema less dreary and more theatrical. The poem spanned the whole length of the tunnel and next year, 2010, would have been it's 10th anniversary.
Time Out are latecomers to the celebrations though; the work has featured regularly as a London favourite for years, it's been on many lists. You can find comments on the web from citizens and visitors to our capital about how the poem has affected them, moved them. Hubbard herself has scores of emails and letters from fans of the piece. You can find glimpses on Flickr, the online photographic site. It's one of the Poetry Society's Poetry Landmarks. You can even see the poem used as the backdrop to a contemporary TV thriller, where Hubbard's words are appropriated for another more sinister narrative.
This path unravels.
Deep in hidden rooms filled with dust
and sour night-breath the lost city is sleeping.
The poem's melancholy closing stanzas begin:
Above the hurt sky is weeping,
soaked nightingales have ceased to sing.
Dusk has come early. I am drowning in blue.
Well, in a strange premonition, the poem has now physically been drowned in blue. A couple of weeks after Time Out drew renewed attention to this treasured piece of public poetry, the owners have painted out the entire installation, indeed the entire tunnel is now bathed in lavatorial blue. It's gone. I think London would like it back. If you share my view you can join the campaign on Facebook, or indeed on the Salt blog. Let's hope that we can recover this marvellous, singular, splendid place.