I was the archetypal reluctant Londoner up until fairly recently. I moved from the 22mph Yorkshire Dales to 122mph London around this time five years ago (feels like yesterday). After renting a shoebox in Islington for two years, my Converse were seeking better value per square feet, so I found myself moving to the Green Lanes area of Finsbury Park. Anyone who is familiar with Islington knows that there is little necessity to venture any further, it’s fairly self-sufficient. However, the danger is that one can spend their entire life in this compact chi-chi environment and lose all perspective of the broader context of London.
It is an extraordinary privilege to live by a park, especially in this metropolis. I’m positive that having doorstep access to green space has saved me from dropping the odd marble. In the course of five years I’ve taken time out to stroll through as many of London’s park’s as possible, and yet I still love Finsbury Park above all others. It’s trees are phenomenal, and in springtime the park explodes with cherry blossom the likes of which I’ve never seen anywhere else. There is a natural easy magic in Finsbury, it doesn’t need to try hard to be a great park.
Green Lanes (according to Wiki) is possibly the longest road in London, so I can’t speak for it’s entire stretch, however the area adjacent to the park is choca with authentic Greek and Turkish deli’s, cafés and eateries. The food options are seriously mind-boggling and it’s possible to eat like a siroche na dache as my mum would say; an orphan at a feast, for a fiver. It took me a while to really appreciate my local habitat, it’s a radical adjustment from the manicure of Islington High Street, but I wouldn’t trade it for all the chi in London. There is an authenticity to Green Lanes Finsbury Park, the love of which gravitates to the heart by some mystical force of osmosis, and sets up camp.
At the back end of this summer, I spotted one female artist strolling barefoot along the Ashram, canvas in one hand, fag in the other. It made me smile; this area has become a magnet for all types of artists and musicians, which I was oblivious to when I first arrived; from Stokie’s artist studios to Finsbury Park’s warehouses, Green Lanes is fast becoming the new frontier for London’s creative edge. There is a palpable feel-good buzz factor in the area, and it’s on the increase. Houses that were begging for TLC are receiving much-needed make-overs; the Ashram is certainly looking tidier than it was even a year ago.
Hoxton and Spitalfields have experienced their own brand of radical regeneration, however, there is a double-edge sword of pretension that creeps in like poison ivy; the ‘too cool for school’ syndrome kicks in which thus negates the original authenticity that makes an area so coveted in the first place. Green Lanes Finsbury Park is relaxed to horizontal; there are less obvious foot-holds for the developers, and with a pumping east-European artery, she is more likely to keep her virginity in tact. Either that, or we may have to invest in a chastity belt.

V

∞

Better Place

The Sun’s evening light benevolent to all,
distances diminished as if in space
Senses ring with elation,
seaweed crunching,
a shimmer in the sand
A thousand feathered souls soar hypnotic thermals
Promises from the sea call out
Time stilled to it’s rightful place
I cry in the presence of the moment
Perfection floods me with joy
Forever aware of this magical place

Now I belong, committed to share.

Abner

The Window

A thousand faces
Lives in a second
Wonder what unfolds?
Birth, death,
joy, despair?
How funny to peek
Not really looking.

Abner

ψ

The Patience of Crumpled Time

Duality

Mists of confusion crowd about
Not what I seem
or desire to be
Hurt and frustration play a tune
Anger creeps
from a darkened place
Slow stagnation not the way

Recognition brutal,
awake and raw
Light dispels illusion,
lead the way
Landscapes unfold in joyous form
Tears from my soul easing pain
Joy in truth,
a noble cause
Peace to sleep seems to touch.

Abner

Ψ

∞

Editor: while reading Abner’s poem Duality for the first time, it reminded me of this 2008 painting, pictured above. The painting’s title, The Patience of Crumpled Time (We Voyage Through), is borrowed from Pablo Neruda’s poem Furies and Sufferings. Neruda likewise borrowed the title for his poem from a line of Francisco De Quevedo’s poetry;

‘…There are in my heart furies and sufferings…’

In his poem Duality, it strikes me that Abner’s sensibility mirror’s something of Quevedo’s line of poetry. Of course, with art, we cannot help but project our own emotions while attempting to make sense of someone else’s… and perhaps this is yet another form of duality expressing itself, in contrast to allowing the event to just be for its own sake?

When reading any poetry, I aim to grasp a sense of the whole meaning, and yet what ultimately captures my imagination are isolated words, phrases and sentences that evoke a strong mental picture in my mind, like a string of pearls. These sensory impressions may only be strung very loosely, or even be completely unrelated to the original meaning or intent of the whole. No matter, for the point is to be inspired enough to dream, and so enough to act upon the dream.

Therefore, inspired by Abner’s poem Duality, and the original inspiration behind The Patience Of Crumpled Time…, I revisit Neruda’s Furies and Sufferings to create a collage of impressions. This collage, titled Heart Furies, is an abstraction of the original Neruda poem, posted in the category Concrete Poetry.

Art: The Patience of Crumpled Time is available as a giclée print on stretch canvas or sustainable archive-quality paper. Click on the image to purchase, or to view the VA gallery.

∞

Almost Perfect

Evening sun drapes the archipelago
Water glistens like a thousand mirrors
Haze softening the harshest landscape
Conflicts slowing with the still air
Hope emerges from the moment

Abner

An Old Man And His Dog

Time has no meaning and no place in his life
Absolute calm in now
No rush, no worry, its all been before
Every sound, every speck of light, every insect in the grass revolve
Around the man and his dog

Is the harmony of knowing
No longer needing to know?

To observe the symmetry of that moment is to understand what can be
To find this moment of complete harmony
Is all there is for us to do

Abner

Were You There ?

Dance with a shadow, talk with a ghost
A void in the parting, wishing won’t fix
Halo of reflection, mist of regret
Inch forward, feels like retreat
Look past the moment, unity dawns
Rules break in a storm, expression ignites
Uncertainty binds, memories become structure
Absence had its role, the voyage resumes

Abner

Morning Games

Waterfalls of morning light
Leaves chatter with the breeze
A thousand greens dancing for attention
Silvers and whites join the game
Copper from a youthful beech calls out
A majestic sway from an aged oak
A wispy cloud plays parasol
Shadow life holds its breath …

Abner

From Where ?
From comfort
From time
From familiarity
From assurance
From support
From pain
From development
From need
From offspring
From stability
From the past
From mystery
From songs
From words
From us

Abner

Finding

Moments crash without structure
Seeking and struggling for windows of calm
Every instruction unique
Sound and vision blur
Find the eye of the storm
Listen, it’s in the echo’s
Sound magnified, acute, sharp, now
Beating, buzz, rumble, rustle, flutter
All is slow, clarity given
Solutions explode, vivid , now
Move forward
Quiet resumes

Abner