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Poems on the Blunderground
Apr. 18th, 2006 10:09 amLondon Underground has a rather charming little initiative which they call 'Poems on the Underground'. If you haven't seen it, this takes the form of short pieces of poetry on advertising hoardings inside the carriages. Often this is modern poetry and so it neither rhymes nor scans (and so isn't real poetry in my book), but they have thrown up some real gems which I have in the past made a note of and used in other writings.
I'm not sure what the point of 'Poems on the Underground' is. Presumably LU hope that the calming effect of poetry upon their passengers* will prevent us from storming the driver's compartment en masse and murdering the occupant the next time a strike for more pay is announced (after all, 35 grand and twelve weeks holiday a year for sitting in a cosy cabin on your arse all day is plainly a hard life, isn't it?) and so perhaps some extra peace is acheived in the carriage.
However, none of the poems ever talk about anything like travel. You'd think this was something of an oversight, until you remember that travelling is the last thing LU want to remind you of when you're crammed like sardines into a broken-down train somewhere under Pimlico.
With that in mind, I've written, in the style of AA Milne, a couple of travel-related poems which LU might care to use - I think they'll find they accurately represent the experience of using the London Underground.
Moan, Moan
Ev'ryone complains
The Jubilee Line
Has no working trains
Or alternatively:
Halfway down the tunnel
There's a place where we sit.
There are lots of other places
Just like it.
It isn't in the station
It's somewhere else instead.
Why did I use the Northern Line?
I'm better off dead.
*London Underground actually call us 'Customers', but I don't see them acknowledging that we're always right. Quite the opposite, in fact. Anyway, I'm not a customer, I'm a passenger, and I'm be obliged if they didn't forget it. For what I'm paying them for my travelcard, they ought to be calling me 'My Liege', and putting down a red carpet whenever I deign to enter their squalid little hole.
I'm not sure what the point of 'Poems on the Underground' is. Presumably LU hope that the calming effect of poetry upon their passengers* will prevent us from storming the driver's compartment en masse and murdering the occupant the next time a strike for more pay is announced (after all, 35 grand and twelve weeks holiday a year for sitting in a cosy cabin on your arse all day is plainly a hard life, isn't it?) and so perhaps some extra peace is acheived in the carriage.
However, none of the poems ever talk about anything like travel. You'd think this was something of an oversight, until you remember that travelling is the last thing LU want to remind you of when you're crammed like sardines into a broken-down train somewhere under Pimlico.
With that in mind, I've written, in the style of AA Milne, a couple of travel-related poems which LU might care to use - I think they'll find they accurately represent the experience of using the London Underground.
Moan, Moan
Ev'ryone complains
The Jubilee Line
Has no working trains
Or alternatively:
Halfway down the tunnel
There's a place where we sit.
There are lots of other places
Just like it.
It isn't in the station
It's somewhere else instead.
Why did I use the Northern Line?
I'm better off dead.
*London Underground actually call us 'Customers', but I don't see them acknowledging that we're always right. Quite the opposite, in fact. Anyway, I'm not a customer, I'm a passenger, and I'm be obliged if they didn't forget it. For what I'm paying them for my travelcard, they ought to be calling me 'My Liege', and putting down a red carpet whenever I deign to enter their squalid little hole.
