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Mr Eliot also caught the Tube

Ivan Head

Nov 01 2011

1 mins

I hear the voice of the Lord
in the shriek of the night Tube
between Highbury and Kings Cross
at speed underground.
The cry of the rails
the cry of A to B.

The man opposite
writes microprint
in his notebook
and mutters.

The announcer at Victoria
articulates
“The—next—train—to …”
compensating for the echo.
Below this I hear a low arterial murmur
the sweet murmur of the city.

By high rise in Pimlico
I count the last five soft metallic strikes
of Big Ben at ten.
At this distance they soak the air
and seem to emerge from all things.
 

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