• Caleb Parkin

Epic delays while Sent To Coventry…


I’ve been working away in Coventry since June – I have been, literally, Sent To Coventry. The project we’ve been doing here has been expansive, challenging and at times very hard: a youth theatre production coupled with a TV production is no mean feat.

But that’s another story, and one for after the transmission so’s I don’t get into any trouble (not that I would as noone reads this – except maybe (and thank you) my two subscribers). While I was seated backstage today I started to jot down a Cov sonnet which I suppose is inspired by its often rather dreary architecture and the sad history which bore it:

O fateful twisting ring-ed Road of Cov, Whose exits one to nine swoop sharp and low, In aspect city-fitting like a glove Of concrete or a sock, a washing blow.

The AXA oblong thinks itself, reflects Each passing sky, outmoded idea. Cathedral spire whose roofless mouth inflects The burning echoes, siren-scream through years

Of incandescent steely reveries And hyper-hopeful modernistic mores With mega-boom untold prosperities Spread over umpteen polyester floors.

But we forget, O lest (oh yes) we do That history’s a question, not a clue.

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