chalkdog
London Underground
They are not tourists, they belong to the city, they are not working or playing, this is time spent between worlds, in limbo. Estranged from the world above, they stride, almost sleepwalking, almost automata on their twisting circuitous routes. Here it is dry, but their faces are still downturned after slicking rain, their shoulders are still stooped. In the ivory light of steam punk electricals the dusty breath of tunnels warms them. They perform their oyster card etiquette, they descend they ascend.
“Take my hand
I’m a stranger in paradise
All lost in a wonderland
A stranger in paradise
If I stand starry-eyed
That’s the danger in paradise
For mortals who stand beside an angel like you”
From an eternity away a heartbreaking tenor voice spirals into the arches above an escalator. Almost no one makes eye contact with the busker, but still, he coins it with his ancient show tunes, and his teasingly sentimental humour.
“I saw your face and I ascended
Out of the commonplace into the rare
Somewhere in space I hang suspended
Until I know there’s a chance that you care
Won’t you answer this fervent prayer
Of a stranger in paradise?
Don’t send me in dark despair…”
-“Stranger in Paradise” from the musical “Kismet”-based on Borodin’s “Polovtsian Dances”
-Words and Music by Robert Wright and George Forrest
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Rachel Irving and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
