Have we really imagined a universe with our own town or city as a centre. What kind of universe has Olney as its center? And what might I find in a universe that has New York, or Mumbai, or Beijing, or Lagos as its center?
How can we deny the lens of the place we live? Do we not deny ourselves?
Why do we feel cynicism that some of Britain’s grand old cities have lost their raison d’etre? Surely that is normal. I’ve learned from poets to think about the soul of a city and if I cannot love it, to move to one that I can.
Could it be that our lives are the poetry of place?
Even if we are unaware of writing its poems?