Pylon Poetry from Stephen Spender
May 01, 2009
The Pylons – Stephen Spender
The secret of these hills was stone, and cottages
Of that stone made,
And crumbling roads
That turned on sudden hidden villages.
Now over these small hills, they have built the concrete
That trails black wire;
Pylons, those pillars
Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret.
The valley with its gilt and evening look
And the green chestnut
Of customary root,
Are mocked dry like the parched bed of a brook.
But far above and far as sight endures
Like whips of anger
With lightning's danger
There runs the quick perspective of the future.
This dwarfs our emerald country by its trek
So tall with prophecy:
Dreaming of cities
Where often clouds shall lean their swan-white neck.
I studied this poem in high school, and find it now to be utterly quaint and pointless.
We live in another world, the world of pylons, now.
I believe in them, I have to, otherwise I will go mad.
Posted by: Miguel Rostocvsky | August 18, 2020 at 08:18 PM