Another Place

 Those of you who know North Merseyside will know where this is, This poem imagines what it might be like to be one of Anthony Gormley's Iron Men. 

There’s a sign near to where we stand

It clearly says “Another Place this way”

Those who come land on windy strand

Here all of us they see, stretching far away 

We’re on the shore, cold and very bare

People come to see, take a snap or two

“This is Win and Tom with cousin Clare

”Snugly wrapped, lest wind chills through 

When the tide returns we must stay still

‘Cause you see, we’re shackled to the sea

Pity not, no rescue try, we live in salty chill

Though ‘tis no fun, stood icy in the sea 

Trippers come down ‘most every day

You see we’re famous, a site to see

Children come, in the sand they play

Still we stand, ever gazing out to sea 

One sunny day, early beauty bared by me

Danced naked, brushed my cold iron skin

Countless shots, pretty nymph all over me

Now we’re shown, art it has no trace of sin 

I’m somewhat miffed, Oh! What a liberty!

“Beauty and the Beast!”, calendar was called

I may be rough, weathered and a tad rusty

Still I’ve feelings, no matter how I’m mauled 

So when you venture to “Another Place”

You’re sure to find me still, cold and bare

Ever looking out to sea, if you like embrace

I will not flinch, made of iron, I cannot care 

Windmills in the sea spinning in the breeze

But men of iron they cannot turn and sway‘

Cause we’re here just your eyes to please

Ponder walking by, we’re stood here every day 

The other day some funny guys did come

They dressed my pal with failing hat of straw,

And pink top with sequined skirt, over bum

Now camera snaps some more and more 

Remember as you play, though forever nude

I’m a work of art, I do deserve some dignity

I’d prefer it if people were not quite so rude

‘Cause it’s no fun, here shackled in the sea    

>>>>>The other day some funny guys did come

They dressed my pal with failing hat of straw,

And pink top with sequined skirt, over bum

I see Denzil has been down your way Gordon! Anyway joking apart very good, you really wrote that?

I'm with you on this one, Wolf. I respect that people in business should have copyright as they are trying to make a living, but verse and pictures shared on this site are entered freely for all to see. To have copyright would go against the spirit of this fantastic site.

After all, the veiwing or publicity of the material posted on here is drawing attention to the work of the 'artist'  anyway IMO

Another Place consists of 100 cast-iron, life-size figures spread out along three kilometres of the foreshore, stretching almost one kilometre out to sea. The artwork has been brought to the area by South Sefton Development Trust with funding from the Mersey Waterfront programme, the Mersey Docks and Harbour Company and the Arts Council.

The Another Place figures - each one weighing 650 kilos - are made from casts of the artist's own body and are shown at different stages of rising out of the sand, all of them looking out to sea, staring at the horizon in silent expectation.

The work is being exhibited in the UK for the first time. It has previously been seen in Cuxhaven in Germany, Stavanger in Norway and De Panne in Belgium.

According to Antony Gormley, Another Place harnesses the ebb and flow of the tide to explore man's relationship with nature. He explains: The seaside is a good place to do this. Here time is tested by tide, architecture by the elements and the prevalence of sky seems to question the earth's substance. In this work human life is tested against planetary time. This sculpture exposes to light and time the nakedness of a particular and peculiar body. It is no hero, no ideal, just the industrially reproduced body of a middle-aged man trying to remain standing and trying to breathe, facing a horizon busy with ships moving materials and manufactured things around the planet.

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

thanks for sharing

I don't know if Norse mythology appeals to many; I decided to post this poem anyway.

It is based on another of my favourite subjects...

Harry

Ymir – Tree of Frost


Ymir, giant tree of frost, created from the house of mist
As icy landscape yielded to Muspel, a house of fire
Great giants from sleeping Ymir's limbs grew
Audumla, cow of divinity nourished from the melting ice
And from her udder flowed four rivers of milk
Upon which great Ymir fed
Then on the eve of the very first day
Grew hair of Buri, primeval man
Motherless and Fatherless sprung forth Buri
The second eventide produced a head
And on the third became a man
Who created a son and named him Bor

Odin, Vili, and Ve were Bor’s sons
Ymir, and all other giants they despised
And contrived between them, to take their lives
From their dead bodies came the Heaven and Earth
Their flesh the empty Cosmos -
The lakes and oceans from their blood

Broken bones formed mountains great
Huge teeth became but rocks and stones
And trees from giants hair sprang forth
Their brains became but cirrus clouds
The brothers then raised Ymir’s skull
To form a risen, concave, sky

An eyebrow was the realm of man
Midgard – Fortress against the evildoers
The middle Earth built by the gods
Man’s protection from all giants
And maggots formed in Ymir’s flesh
Gave rise to the wits and shape of men