Some kids in coats, their pale faces Howling up at the rooftops Where heroes tumble with shadows And the night eddies and billows Anchored by chimney pots And tormented by the epic wind of dreams That blows from the plains
I wish you could've seen it- the space! We had so much of it, although I can't quite say we didn't know what to do with it, because we always did know, and look at us now. I knew a lot of men who had a roof each. Can you imagine? Sixty or a hundred square feet of roof for just himself and his family. And there was so much space between the buildings and away from the citys that, and you wont believe this, there were people who went their whole lives without ever setting foot on the rooftop at all. At that time, all the populated places, which were not many, remember, had streets right on the ground, just like those postcards of Geneva I showed you, so the rooftop was not joined up, but all seperate with these streets inbetween, and you could easily reach the end if you wanted. The roofs were worthless really, certainly not worth defending with bricks and bats, but just for looking at, and for the birds to land on.
Because there were so many ways out, we didn't know the horror of sealing. How many times have you woken with the thought that some starving pioneer could be staking his claim above your head, sealing you under? But there were much less of us then, as I'm sure you know. In fact, when my grandparents were your age there were less people in the whole world than die in a month between here and Norwich. Honestly, I mean... well, don't tell your mother I told you this, but its true. Sometimes you could go for a short time without seeing any people at all, though your eyes were open, and it was as if the world was empty, which was neither happy nor sad. People got their food from farms that were made entirely of pure soil, right on the floor of the world which is where it comes from. And their power from tubes just like yours except a thousand miles long. Their water came out of lakes, just like it was for King Arthur. So the rooftop was not for fighting over. It was barely for thinking about, and never for pride or dowry.
Now your father is a practical man. He can wire a panel quickly in tight space, and wire it to last. He knows how to cultivate all the important mosses and understands as much about yield and nutrition as anyone around here. Also, he knows how to defend his plot, and how to help his neighbours defend theirs. When to share and when to save. To feed four families on thirty square feet of the rooftop is not an easy task. These things make him a good father and a good man. But back then, a man like your father, who cultivates mosses and tinkers with wires, always inventing and fixing up, always mindful of the rooftop- back then, he would've been a dreamer and a loser. We would've said he had his head in the clouds, but by that we used to mean something very different. All I'm trying to say is that what matters now didn't matter then.
But here's the thing I really wanted to tell you about. If you ever looked out, and doing so was much easier, remember, and almost anyone could do it, the rooftops were all empty for hundreds of miles. No panels, no cultivation; nothing. they were just flat and empty, right out in the open air. And if the sun shone, which happened much more often, it just landed on them and kind of spilled across them as if it were not precious at all. And I know your Father has taught how waste is evil, and he is right to tell you this. But this is exactly what I'm saying; the light wasn't really stuff back then. It barely existed. And no-one was squirreling away and flipping their pannels to gather it up. What I'm saying is you could really enjoy looking at all the light landing and going nowhere, into nothing. It wasn't a shame. It didn't matter. It looked lovely, although people rarely looked. Or sometimes you'd look out and the world would be empty, like I said, because all the people would be in the Parks, which really did exist, just like they told you at school. Its all true. You must sleep now, lamb. You're tired
Rooftops
ReplyDeleteWhereupon
But silt
But sod
But sleet
But sky
And all manner of
The curses of The Above
But not I!
No,
Not even sorry I.
I, below
The lowest of
The sky
Some kids in coats, their pale faces
ReplyDeleteHowling up at the rooftops
Where heroes tumble with shadows
And the night eddies and billows
Anchored by chimney pots
And tormented by the epic wind of dreams
That blows from the plains
I wish you could've seen it- the space! We had so much of it, although I can't quite say we didn't know what to do with it, because we always did know, and look at us now. I knew a lot of men who had a roof each. Can you imagine? Sixty or a hundred square feet of roof for just himself and his family. And there was so much space between the buildings and away from the citys that, and you wont believe this, there were people who went their whole lives without ever setting foot on the rooftop at all. At that time, all the populated places, which were not many, remember, had streets right on the ground, just like those postcards of Geneva I showed you, so the rooftop was not joined up, but all seperate with these streets inbetween, and you could easily reach the end if you wanted. The roofs were worthless really, certainly not worth defending with bricks and bats, but just for looking at, and for the birds to land on.
ReplyDeleteBecause there were so many ways out, we didn't know the horror of sealing. How many times have you woken with the thought that some starving pioneer could be staking his claim above your head, sealing you under? But there were much less of us then, as I'm sure you know. In fact, when my grandparents were your age there were less people in the whole world than die in a month between here and Norwich. Honestly, I mean... well, don't tell your mother I told you this, but its true. Sometimes you could go for a short time without seeing any people at all, though your eyes were open, and it was as if the world was empty, which was neither happy nor sad. People got their food from farms that were made entirely of pure soil, right on the floor of the world which is where it comes from. And their power from tubes just like yours except a thousand miles long. Their water came out of lakes, just like it was for King Arthur. So the rooftop was not for fighting over. It was barely for thinking about, and never for pride or dowry.
Now your father is a practical man. He can wire a panel quickly in tight space, and wire it to last. He knows how to cultivate all the important mosses and understands as much about yield and nutrition as anyone around here. Also, he knows how to defend his plot, and how to help his neighbours defend theirs. When to share and when to save. To feed four families on thirty square feet of the rooftop is not an easy task. These things make him a good father and a good man. But back then, a man like your father, who cultivates mosses and tinkers with wires, always inventing and fixing up, always mindful of the rooftop- back then, he would've been a dreamer and a loser. We would've said he had his head in the clouds, but by that we used to mean something very different. All I'm trying to say is that what matters now didn't matter then.
But here's the thing I really wanted to tell you about. If you ever looked out, and doing so was much easier, remember, and almost anyone could do it, the rooftops were all empty for hundreds of miles. No panels, no cultivation; nothing. they were just flat and empty, right out in the open air. And if the sun shone, which happened much more often, it just landed on them and kind of spilled across them as if it were not precious at all. And I know your Father has taught how waste is evil, and he is right to tell you this. But this is exactly what I'm saying; the light wasn't really stuff back then. It barely existed. And no-one was squirreling away and flipping their pannels to gather it up. What I'm saying is you could really enjoy looking at all the light landing and going nowhere, into nothing. It wasn't a shame. It didn't matter. It looked lovely, although people rarely looked. Or sometimes you'd look out and the world would be empty, like I said, because all the people would be in the Parks, which really did exist, just like they told you at school. Its all true. You must sleep now, lamb. You're tired