What became of you? Do you ever dream
of Squares or Spines? Have the trickledown
Brutalist shapes you lived in once
entered your mind's broad church, or sank
foundations into the Jungian slime
you arrived with? Does autumn begin
with a blight of tattered fly posters
where you live now? Are there pied wagtails
to pick along the crazed concrete
and guttering of your Lents, or has
a great ice-breaker called Real Life
broken down the terms of the college year?
Was it meant to be, or were your friends
part of a vast coincidence?
Has the way The Waste Land opens
with participles made a big difference?
Does the soft roar of the motorway still
haunt your skylines? Can you play the
pool shark every once in a while and
do you walk in the Shadow of Debt, or
wake in cold sweats when re-sitting
the old exam nightmare?
Did the theoream stick? Have the words flown?
Did you really leave? Can you ever return?
This poem was printed in the Winter 2005 edition of 'Steps', The Lancaster University alumni mag.
The poem is from a fragment found in a University Library book. And I was wondering if anyone knows who wrote it? Did you write it? How old is this poem? I graduated three years ago and this poem really strikes a cord with me ... not least the 'Shadow of Debt' bit :-))