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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=575269" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Anti-Travel Travel Poem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The anti-travel travel poem suggests the road<br>romance & regrets <br>the endless paperwork we left behind<br>I dreamed of walking boots that wouldn’t lace<br>anti-travellers can never get lost <br>in a swamp of Choice we must take <br>the American grid pattern endless <br>military runways, the borders<br>of Empire, take-off zone & rabbit fence<br>keeping peace at the ruined city gate<br>where crows consider life in a decommissioned bomber<br>the line I have lain too long on the beach<br>staring at the awesome winter surf<br>is prelude to destruction & creation<br>the anti-travel travel poem does not <br>ask for directions on a road no one’s taken<br>it is time arrested at six-ways crossroad<br>where cremation crews put shoulder to the Prince’s corpse<br>malicious hangers-on decide its time to quit <br>and humans go on burning quietly<br>find shelf space in a Singapore of metaphysics<br>in food halls where no one’s lost, <br>no one’s found, no one needs directions <br>each well meant instruction (go straight<br>through the cemetery, turn left – or was it right)<br>leads to the wilderness of whole new forests<br>wholly dedicated to paper (Show us your ID, Mr Death!).<br>Sure not everyone’s perfectly matched.<br>Even the President preferred golf,<br>the curve & arrow of ball and club, the flagged<br>plantation we thought abolished<br>inter-island piracy forever, & snakes<br>that hide in elephant grass all know <br>how dangerous the sedentary life<br>being cute & poisonous at the same time<br>exiles mistaken for natives <br>non-travellers who decide to stay<br>feral & primitive, go loose, develop the local accent<br>camp on the edge of what they know best:<br>abandoned village with Pepsi sign<br>a dog dozing in a broken down truck <br>in the mountain’s two thousand metre air<br>the sign on a frog statue:<br>SORRY, NO ROOM SERVICE<br>hasn’t changed since Eisenhower,<br>a red stop sign marks disused<br>industrial estate no one but a film crew stops at<br>checkpoints for the apprentice guide <br>and even the ICBM stalls<br>on a one way track to Krakatoa<br>with human maps it cannot read. <br>Rivers stop, flow back, released<br>from the burden of their own<br>meanderings, the drunk boatmen, Ophelias overgrown <br>bloated with silt, good for growing moss<br>from that moment a bird dropped seed<br>of grass & trees on no-where-in-particular’s<br>shady undergrowth & the poem’s farms & gardens <br>revert to shaggy Edens where no-one is a stranger <br>in a Kingdom of minute-by-minute ritual<br>where we know belonging, we know how.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Adam+Aitken">Adam Aitken</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=575269" data-title="The Anti-Travel Travel Poem de Adam Aitken" data-description="The anti-travel travel poem suggests the road
romance & regrets 
the endless paperwork we left behind
I dreamed of walking boots that wouldn’t lace
anti-travellers can never get lost 
in a swamp of Choice we must take 
the American grid pattern ..."></div>
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