The Park
By John Freeman
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About this ebook
John Freeman
John Freeman is a highly experienced professional photographer and the author of several books on photography, including Collins Digital SLR Handbook and Need to Know? Digital SLR Photography. John has a regular column in What Digital Camera? and Digital Camera magazines, and his work can be viewed at his frequent exhibitions and on his website.
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Book preview
The Park - John Freeman
I
Modern Gods
Backlit by the glow
from a small passageway,
he kneels into the fog
of yellow light,
head kissing the carpet.
I step around him,
respecting his privacy, when
the mat becomes not prayer
rug but builder’s tool,
a black piece of tarmac laid down
before the bank so he could
peer close, fix the dead
motion sensor so that people
with money could
be seen, all doors opening
for them.
Unfinished
She never saw it completed,
did not glimpse the many
varieties of tortoises
that lounged in a pond
near the north gate, never
peered into its vast fish pool,
never lowered her voice upon
stepping into the medal
room, her son’s decoration
shimmering in its ambition.
She, being a woman, had to
move in while the making was
still being made, 1625,
interiors sawdust and silk. Mornings padding
across cold marble floors past footmen
clicking heels together, the arc
of her life there for all to see
in twenty-four Rubenses—girlhood,
motherhood, widowhood.
How they resented her,
the French, but needed her
money. She would have to
commission her own story. She
just needed more time, but time
knows when it is being chased.
The cardinals and ministers did not
even hide the whetstone.
They would eat
her. Sailing to the Spanish
Netherlands, banished
to Belgium, did she know
she’d never see her beloved park again? Or did
it occur to her, finally, she could never
replace time with time? Even a third
of a century building was not enough
to return her childhood
for a moment. So she gave
the park to her son, the second
son, in the full throes
of his dukedom, an expert in
acquisition. He’d never
understand the only things
that matter are irreplaceable. Then the palace began
to tumble through the ages,
each exchange erasing what
it was meant to replace, developers
nibbling at its margins, Napoleon
ripping up her fountain, urban
planners stuffing its