I am of an age that is ageless, the very essence
that lingers somewhere between shadow and light;
that indescribable grey matter separating all that
aligns itself with black from all that derives its purity
from white. I am the illusive thread tying together
the journey, the twisting and twirling of cloths weaving
together past, present and briefly imagined futures.
I am the force between that barely dreamt dream
of what will be and that longing, lodged in the memory,
that leaves logic out to recall that single magical moment
from that day, long ago lived. That room in the mind
that holds so tightly to that taste once passed over lips,
ripe for the tasting, I am the emphasis of purity
in the remembrance of that very taste. All else,
long since, fallen by the wayside or lost out amid
the uncertainty of what’s remembered and what’s real.
I am the playfulness of the light you see cast bright
on your tall towers with their windows onto the world.
I am the linear contrast of urban lines, rising sharp
and structured amid the chaos. I am the smooth sleekness
untwining myself from a frivolous mess. I am
the seduction salvaged from the superfluous. I am
the impression left on the skin long after I’ve parted,
the mark of what once was, what is and what will be.
I am what makes the melancholy magical, every mood
a melody; the manufacturer of the moments the mind
will muster. I am the lines that will lead you on, latitudes
to rise upon and longitudes to fill your form. I am a city,
seen from above, with straights of sky-scraping streets;
lean lines, lengthy and lasting, marching triumphantly
forward as if to herald one’s rise out of confusing chaos
and stake your claim to stand above, alone, assured
and reassured, calm and confident, always exceptional,
occasionally eccentric, uniquely independent and always
individual. Modern made from a blend of what is
both memory and what has yet to be. I am everything
you put on to be who you are. Yesterday you dreamt
of me, tomorrow you’ll remember me, today, you are me.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly.
This is a Repost.
8 thoughts on “IN THE ARCHITECTURALLY FASHIONED MEMORY OF WHAT IS NOW MODERN”
I read repost as in réplique. I was wondering to what. Now I see. Fascinating juxtaposition—what is it?
And fascinating poem!
Glad you enjoy this one. When I lived in Amsterdam I worked as a pattern maker for Calvin Klein and at the start of the season the creative director gave out a list words to instill a feeling of the theme of the new collection we were about to start working on. The designers worked on sketches and, while i waited for them, I worked on the word and this poem arrived! Fashion and architecture and form and fancy, I guess…
I did, very much. And whoever chose the sculpture and posed the mannequin was inspired.
The exhibition was called Dos a la Mode which I saw last week at Musee Bourdelle in Paris, more pics coming later today I think- everything is pre- scheduled in the blog these days so I’m never sure what’s coming up! The sculpture is Antoine Bourdelle and the dress by Martine Sitbon I think.
Thanks! I really like the mood.
I’m on route to Galway! Throwing the landscape a wave for you as the train catches up with the rhythm of the rain ☘️👋
We’ve had rain too, so you’re in good company. Kisses to Galway too. My parents honeymooned there. I know, weird choice.
Oh, I love that last sentence. What a wonderful conversation. (K)