Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

What am I doing in this place why am I here? Why did that man give me this address who did he think I was? A junkie a hobo a bum? Did he think I was that phrase they use here - on the game? They think I can't hear because my hair is covering my face they can’t see me I am almost invisible. But I hear I hear. I hear what they say. I hear them run down the police the country the people that work in this place the dealers their friends. Everyone is a shit a fucking bastard. I hear them with their junkie paraphernalia their needles their spoons their matches their tourniquets swearing as they try to find a strong enough vein. I hear their aggression their frustration their hate. I hear them run down women. Stags cunts fucking bitches. I hear them try to cancel me out.

Why did that man give me this address what did he think I would want with this Day Centre? The concrete floor is filthy with cigarette butts torn paper threads of old cloth. The people that work here ask can I help you in their English voices. I hear them I hear them. I hear how they talk to each other how they talk to the people that come inside. They call them clients. Why do they think I am a client why do they think that I might need them? Because that man gave me this address because I walked through the door because I haven’t walked out does that mean I need help? With his glasses and beard the man reminded me of Mom’s stupid shrink. Telling Mom to send me away. Thinking I didn’t know what they had talked about thinking I would believe Mom when she said it would be an adventure. Thinking I would not hear the echo of the phrase sink or swim hanging in the air. Who was he to decide I could sink or swim? What does he know? How can Mom with her anxious smile say it’s only for a month? Only one month thirty days thirty days.

Another person who works here is coming they do not know what to do with me why must anything be done with me? Soon I will walk out the door when I have got enough strength to pass the insults the violence behind them waiting to explode. I sit on this chair in the corner one leg is wobbly he sits in front of me on another chair his legs on either side the back of it between us. I do not need defence I am almost invisible. Here in London England I am almost invisible. Ratso has burned his name with a cigarette on the back of the chair.

I have a ticket home in my panties I have my American Express card in my panties I don’t need help. This place smells of blood of urine of sweat mostly sweat. I will get up and go soon I do not need to be here. I do not need this man being manly conquering a wooden chair in front of me spreading his legs to try pin me in this corner try stop me escape.

I went to an exhibition today of French caricatures during the Commune. I don’t know what the Commune was. Mom does not like Communists I don’t think she has ever met one. Red is a strong colour I must keep inside I have to be careful if I use red. The catalogue had red on the cover also dark blue. The white to make up the French flag was the paper. The exhibition was on the street I was walking down so I went in. There were no photographs maybe they were poor maybe it was long ago. When I get back to my room I will draw the faces I have seen today as usual maybe also faces I have seen here.

This man is keeping me from drawing faces. He has turned his chair around and is now sitting properly to show me he is not afraid of me any more. He is letting me escape if I want to. I will not make myself invisible just yet. He has odd socks on.

He asks his questions I do not answer. He waits asks his next question I do not answer. Maybe if I show him the catalogue he will know what the Commune was that would be useful. His shoes are dirty everything here is dirty or broken down or both.

But not me.

This place is a lemon. I used to think only small things that were broken were lemons hut now I see it can be anything even a city.

Questions questions questions stupid questions. At least here in London England I can swear in my thoughts. Mom does not like me swearing in my thoughts sometimes she even comes into my room to stop me. Stop it she says if you love me you’ll stop it. The shrink the stupid shrink tells me she loves me enough to take me to see him she loves me enough to let me go. To let me go is the same as to send me away. Send me away to JFK over the Atlantic Ocean to London England. Thirty days thirty days twenty days twenty days.

If I show him the catalogue and he doesn’t know what the Commune was he will feel even more of a failure.

Mom liked the stupid shrink too much smiled at him too much wanted to please him as if he was the reason for the stupid appointments. As if he was paying her. When I was on my own with him we often didn’t speak. I didn’t speak and he gave up. I drew drew drew never taking the pen from the paper never telling him who the faces were. He wanted me to talk he would really have liked me to swear but it was not hard to be strong for an hour.

I open my notebook and draw a face the face I imagine this man has. I tear out the page and give it him. He looks at it does not understand it is him. He is trying to draw now he cannot draw. He cannot draw a girl with long hair down over her face. He draws like a child he has odd socks on.

He asks where I am living. I have the address in my panties I will not get lost I do not need help.

He sighs and gets up. I have won.

***

He says he missed me when he came back I was gone.

He does not understand I can make myself completely invisible. He gave me permission he went to the bathroom he does not understand.

I do not need help and right now I don’t know the reason why I have returned. Thirty days thirty days nineteen days nineteen days.

He says he kept my drawing do I mind? The shrink the stupid shrink kept my drawings. He had a file for things to look at once a week.

He asks if I will draw something for him today. His shoes are still dirty his socks are still odd he hasn’t washed. Mom wouldn’t like him Mom wouldn’t like this place. She would smell the blood the urine the sweat. Everything goes around me without touching me. I do not fix do not sell my body do not steal do not beg do not try to commit suicide. I do not need to I do not need this life here.

At least today he is not asking so many questions. He gives me paper to draw on good paper too good paper for a place like this. Does he know he wears odd socks? Does he do it to try and make himself visible does he need help from me? Quickly I lift my head part my hair enough to see his face his eyes quickly look back down. My hair is back in place he did not see me. His eyes are kind his eyes are interested in my drawing. The shrink the stupid shrink had tired eyes. How can you hope to help people when you have tired eyes? I didn’t need help Mom needed help so much she did not see his eyes. She was too busy smiling afraid the stupid shrink would say no reject her.

Have I come all this way to help this man? All the way to London England for this? Thirty days thirty days nineteen days nineteen days.

I begin to draw his face as it is. The pen does not leave the paper it is one line. Every line could be straightened out like a ball of string.

I bought a walnut today a stone walnut I do not know what stone but it feels it might be precious. There was a market with stalls in the street I was walking down. Yet another man collapsed breaking down in his huge smell of alcohol and sweat. I stopped so that he could not grab hold of me saw this stone.

He looks at his face does not see himself. He is too used to looking in mirrors. I take back the paper and draw him as he sees himself. Visible.

***

Because he understands words better than drawings I have been trying to write for him. But all I write are odd thoughts. I cannot say what I have to say in words. He thinks he is beginning to understand because he thinks he understands the meanings of the words I use. But even if he could I would never write down anything important that could end up in a file or with the trash on the floor. He keeps the words. He can.

I hear them say that he hasn’t worked here long. He is uncertain feeling his way in when what he should do is turn around feel his way back out before he becomes completely lost. He needs an Ariadne - was that her name? - with string to lead him safely back out of the maze. Whom later he can abandon.

I try to talk to him I try. It is a struggle. For thirteen days I haven’t talked to anyone beyond please thank you. It is a struggle but he needs me to try. He is making progress a little. Today I didn’t shower I smell I am trying to fit into his patterns trying to help. Now I draw him a girl he would like to meet maybe I would like to be. On the outside.

Because there is nothing to talk about concerning me he talks about himself when he was younger my age times he felt alone. He did not have my strength. He is meant to be a worker here but he spends all his time with me. While I draw he talks filling in my silences. This girl I saw on an advertisement for a movie. Advertisements are paper paper breaks down dissolves in the rain gets torn down gets written on. I noticed this girl because someone had written BITCH on her forehead. Mom wouldn’t like what gets written on the walls here. There is a swastika on the wall behind me a deaths head FUCK OFF written in red drops of red paint blood used carelessly. I am restoring this girl to her beauty before someone spoiled her face made me notice her. This girl does not belong here this man does not belong here I do not belong here no-one should belong here.

He tried to hold my hand earlier there is no need to hold my hand I am not going to run away from him I am not going to make myself invisible. Unlike the stupid shrink I am not going to send him away let him go. He has kind eyes he can sit still he is making progress a little.

He should get out of here before the violence behind the insults explodes. He cannot make himself invisible. He should get out of here before he discovers that this is real people die. Everything is breaking down the noise is getting louder. The wobbly leg on this chair is worse the typewriter I used when I wrote for him had a worn-out ribbon. Nothing comes here that hasn’t been thrown out from somewhere better. Nothing remains here unless it isn’t worth stealing. On this table Steve has carved his name with a knife. Yesterday or whenever he gouged into the wood he loved Josie but now he declares in felt tip that she is a slag. Kilroy was also here. Outside sacks of garbage lie in a huge pile. Today’s new filth on the floor is the same as yesterday’s. Kotex blocks the toilet.

It is hard for me to keep coming here to help him.

His socks match today.

Thirty days thirty days sixteen days sixteen days.

***

Last night in my room I did this drawing for him taking time taking care. Sitting on the hard bed looking into the pattern in the carpet I decided to draw for him the real people around him. Tried to show him the truth so he could get away in time. I heard the doors around me open close heard the cars squeal in pain heard the woman above me moan heard her bed heard the different music all around me trying to be heard the rattle of the old radiator as I stared into the carpet drew drew drew.

This morning I walked to the Centre not looking for a new gallery not waiting for the afternoon. I did what I could I did what I could. I came here all the way to London England I did what I could. Stupid shrink stupid shrink. Thirty days thirty days ten days ten days. I came along the streets where no-one empties the garbage the garbage cans are always full. I came past all the people on show they did not see me. I came past the nervous police pretending they weren’t. I crossed the white lines all over the roads. I walked past the screaming from the store windows the fiction from the signboards. I walked past men’s hands people’s frustrations. I came past want I came past need I came past money. I came all this way he wasn’t there. I sat next a girl who hadn’t washed her fanny he wasn’t there. Another worker a woman came tried to talk to me he wasn’t there. Someone blew smoke in my face he wasn’t there. I left the drawing in a battered book went back out onto the street he wasn’t there. Because I was visible a junkie swore at me to get out the fucking way. Thirty days thirty days ten days ten days.

I walked the streets the stupid streets looking for him not finding him. The streets the people on the streets weakened me I did not find him. Somehow it was already getting dark I had been visible too long. I was in a store doorway the store was shut this boy came towards me I knew him I had seen him in the Centre. I was weak I had been visible too long. He looked as if he wanted to help but didn’t know how. He was nervous of me nervous of him. He took too long. I started to get scared could see another side of him that had been without for too long. He put his arms out towards me I was scared of the part of him that wanted more. He came closer still I ran ran ran. I ran near a nervous policeman the boy moved away looking back. The policeman saw me as a nuisance unable to see my American Express card my plane ticket in my panties so I moved away too in the opposite direction.

I had gone to find him he had not been there. I had looked for him on the streets he had not been there. I had made myself weak he had not been there. I might have been raped or even worse because HE HAD NOT BEEN GODDAMN THERE. Was this what I had been sent here for? Thirty days thirty days ten days ten days the stupid shrink the stupid shrink. The sidewalk is like teeth a slip between the cracks could get you gobbled up. I went on the subway back to my room. A man with pain in his head was smoking he spat his butt onto the floor where the smoke curled upwards. He put his dirty shoes onto the seat opposite. Behind my hair I could see him darting looks up the women’s skirts. He lit another cigarette. No-one dared move as if they were sitting for a painting that no-one would want to paint.

In the next compartment it was the same without the smoke. I sat by the emergency door hoping I wouldn’t have to use it. The advertisements tried to scream at me but were too small. Black cables accompanied the train through the tunnels. In the station I walked as close to the wall as possible next to the beautiful women in the advertisements as far away as I could from the lines where so often people threw themselves. I went up the escalator past the advertisements for bras walked past the men leaning against the wall by the phone booths reached my room drew the drapes. The radiator rattled. I tried to wash the dirt away curled up in my bed behind one pair of drapes in one house of drapes in one block of drapes in one city of drapes under the chemical sky under the stars the moon.

***

I sat in my room for days doing nothing but draw. I ran out of paper had to draw on the blank pages of my books.

I found a kind of diamond sun hidden underneath the stone walnut a surprise I didn’t see it when I bought it. From the brown side it could almost be a real walnut from the other it looked like a creature that might live in the sea. I held it in my left hand as I drew.

I couldn’t go back to the Centre in case I met the boy.

I wrote home finally telling Mom that the address she had sent me to was a bad place I had had to leave. I told her that I was still alive hadn’t sunk told her what she wanted to hear.

Eventually I braved the streets again but streets in different parts of the city though it was the same everywhere the same dirt the same pallid people. Each night I tried to wash the dirt off my body. I walked into a gallery it was on the street I was walking down. The gallery was full of people looking at photographs of the people who were on the street outside the gallery living in alleyways underground car parks doorways condemned buildings. The photographs were in black and white. The people in the gallery stared hard at the people whom they would not dare stare at as they passed by on the street. The people in the photographs could not move could not drop used syringes at their feet offer sex insults could not beg.

I counted down the days.

***

I walked out of my room for the last time I had won I was free. It was a Thursday my last day my last day. I walked to the subway my bag on my back my ticket in my panties my freedom in my body. I was visible. He came out of a store called me stopped me. We stood on the sidewalk too close but it was unavoidable with everyone else pushing past us around us. He asked where I had been how I was. There was no time to tell him why he hadn’t seen me again. I told him I had a plane to catch but there was no time to tell him about the stupid shrink and the thirty days the thirty days all gone. I gave him a book about London I would not need again with drawings on all the blank pages. He asked another question I gave him the catalogue of the exhibition about the Commune. He stopped asking questions I gave him the walnut that I had made magic holding it for days. I gave him the walnut because he hadn’t understood my words my drawings. I gave him the walnut because I didn’t know what to do him standing so close. I gave him the walnut because I didn’t need it any more. I gave him the walnut because I liked him.

As I went down the steps to the subway I looked back brushing my hair off my face so I could see him clearly. He had tears in his eyes standing there rooted to the sidewalk with everyone else rushing past him. He had tears in his eyes as he stood there holding the books the walnut. Maybe I did reach him. Maybe he will become free.

I got on the subway got on the bus to the airport. When it was time to board the plane I put the drawings I had done in a garbage can. I looked at the sky the sea the sky the sea. Everything was very far away.