Saturday, February 21

In Bedlam,
Nothing changes from day to day.

Those Abram-Men,
Busking money on the clay streets.

I see them every day
Out the tiny window above my seat.

In Hell,
Nothing changes but the stoke of the heat.

In Bedlam,
Parishoners come to pour pity on us.

Patched,
Trick'd up with Ribbons, Red-Tape.

Fox-tails and rags,
Pretending to be shadows, beside themselves.

In Hell,
Nothing changes but the shadows themselves.

In 1403,
They drove more wits out of the women and men

Within these walls,
Then they have ever put back into them.

Because in Bedlam,
Nothing changes down these shiny halls

Except the fashions
You get a peek at every spring and fall

Over the redbrick wall.
Posted by Metamatician on Saturday, February 21, 2009

2 comments:

Hans said...

very interesting poem - not sure what you're referring to, but it reads well, though sad as usual

February 21, 2009
Metamatician said...

Thanks.

'Bedlam' is the former name of Bethlem Royal Hospital, the first hospital in the world specifically for caring for the mentally ill. It has a somewhat troubled past.

'Bedlam' is a corruption of the original St. Mary Bethlehem. It's also become the familiar word used for chaos and confusion, further hinting at conditions at this hospital.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethlem_Royal_Hospital

In the poem I took what I knew about similar (though not nearly so grim) places and used it to imagine what it would be like to be a resident there.

This replaced a much more grim poem with the same name, but it scared me too much to even complete the last section, so I trashed it and wrote this, an entirely new poem, instead.

February 21, 2009

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