Speccie Two Bridges
 

Bazza Splendidly upheld the honour of the Sphere in the Odd Job line. Is he a reincarnation of Marlowe anyway? Hardboiled but sentimental? The new competition is a bit of a facer for those of you who do not know what the NEW bridge looks like. Is it new? I shall report back on this one.

NO. 2723: two bridges
You are invited to submit an updated version of Wordsworth’s ‘Upon Westminster Bridge’. Please email entries, if possible, to lucy@spectator.co.ukby midday on 16 November.

It is a new bridge, built in 1864. Canaletto painted the old one, and reminds us that the most notable buildings Saint Thomas's Hospital on the South side, and the Houses of Parliament on the North side, were not there when Wordsworth wrote his poem. The old houses of Parliament were burned to a crisp in 1839 - Turner has a painting. No London Eye of course, and no Charing Cross (North Side) and Waterloo (South side) Stations. Actually I think all these new buildings are quite splendid, though I don't know whether Wordsworth, a bit of an old fogey even in his younger days, would have approved. Google away, friends. You can write a sonnet without ever having SEEN the thing, can't you?

And if you've not been there, Google Street View should give you a pretty good idea of the terrain.

ahem
 

Those stations are linked by Hungerford rail & pedestrian bridge, between Westminster & Waterloo bridges, though Waterloo station is near the south-bank end of Westminster Bridge.

Wot, no takers? Here's mine though a bit late.

Two Bridges

Westminster Bridge, two Wordsworths standing on it,
As underneath sweet Thames runs softly by;
Bill wears a hat and Dorothy a bonnet.
They lean upon the pediment and sigh.
'How beautiful!' they say to one another.
Says Dorothy, 'How fair the rising sun!'
'That's good. That's very good,' agrees her brother,
Who thinks a sonnet on it might be done.

A new bridge now, no Wordsworths, both long dead,
Old privilege subsumed in new skullduggery,
Old Empire waxing, waning, put to bed,
New Thames embanked, Parliament burned to buggery.
Temples of glass and steel ascend the Heavens,
And the mad world's at sixes and at sevens.

Struggling to think of something so far, John, but there's still a glimmer of hope.

I love 'sonnet on it'! :D

And now, Earth hasn’t anything as fair-
ground-like to show, as this large ferris wheel.
Where Wordsworth found his London’s great appeal
Lay in its lying like a sleeper, bare

And open to his gaze in morning air,
Ten score-ten years ago, it’s as unreal,
To see the city’s majesty, yet feel
It’s never dormant now nor unaware,

Except when it rolls forth as we sail high
And arc above it on this rounded track.
Wordsworth, were you were living, you would fly

Here, since it’s now the only place nearby
Where you could gaze and not find gazing back
At you, this blinking, never-blinking Eye.

Frank

Nice swing to this one, John. Slightly checked by 'Parliament burned to buggery'? Presume you meant the 1830s fire, not the bombing in the Second World war? Wonder if the line would run with 'St Stephen's' instead of 'Parliament, though the fire also destroyed the Lords' chamber, the Painted Chamber and so on. (St Stephen's was the converted chapel the Commons used.)

I think Saint Stephen's would be a bit arcane. but I expect my readers (droves of them) to know Turner's painting. I thought thy missed the H of P in Hitler's War. German bombers were no damn good, fortunately. Ours, on the other hand....

John, I take the point about the name St Stephens. However, the House of Commons chamber was bombed during the war. There's a picture of Churchill inspecting the damage, which looks fairly complete.

Frank, "anything as fair- / ground" is a great opening. (Actually, I do quite like the Eye, I have to say. Certainly a lot more attractive than the Dome.)

I don't dislike it, Gregory - I've never seen it. I just took George's advice about Google street view, and John's post made me think Wordsworth probably wouldn't be keen to find his sleeping city with an always-open Eye there.

Frank

John, I don't see that this can be improved upon. I resign.

RSG

Jerome, I bow to superior knowledge, but not burned to buggery surely, just a big hole like at Saint Paul's? Whereas in 1839, according to Turner, really burned. To buggery in fact.

Thanks for your praise, Sam. It means a lot.

It is pretty good. (That's an A single plus). Wish I wrought it.

I reckon Wordsworth's ghost should have the chance to have a go at this, though he will need to shape the ending better. (and probably much of the rest as well!) --

Earth had not anything to show more fair
when first I paused and wrote, a passer-by
who saw in London naught but majesty.
Yet London now doth like a felon wear
a prison house’s stench from which each bare-
faced, money-grabbing, wild, lick-penny lie
doth rise, a Devil’s incense, to the sky
and hangs like poison in the godless air.
Never did sun more hesitantly steep
above a banker’s paunch or six-day bill
nor saw I Mammon gorging quite so deep.
The river cringeth past his fetid swill
where greed and counting houses never sleep,
the city’s heart now but one mighty till.

That gave me chills, Martin. I found myself longing, though, to tweak the last line, replacing "soulless" with "mighty". For the Wordsworthian echo and for the fact that, on reading, the whole weight of the word swings from his positive to your negative.

Ann, I had tried about a dozen words in place of "soulless." It is obviously a key moment -- whatever word it ends up being. I settled for soulless in view of Wordsworth's day job, feeling that he would not have resisted the opportunity to make the point. Now you have given me cause to re-think. Ouch!
If I have time I think I also need to disconnect the last two lines from Line 12 in order more strictly to follow the sonnet form.
But flattering indeed, I hope (!), to hear that I caused you chills.

Also, I have found a wonderful phrase, "lick-penny," which I think would read better than "rapacious" in Line 6.

All thoughts much welcomed. But time is running out.

Martin, I hesitate to criticize a fine sonnet and I know it isn't what you say, but I'll bet the river is cleaner now than it was in 1803. It's certainly cleaner than it was in 1953 when all the fish were dead.

John, You are right, of course. But it is still mucky enough to adversely affect sexually ambivalent charity fundraisers. (I can see non-Brits thinking, "What on earth is he on about?")