The Unspoken Word

When I was a student of architecture I came upon a book that would change my academic life and open my eyes to what architecture is truly all about. It was a catalogue of work by five emerging architects who practiced in and around New York. Opening that catalogue took me to New York and into some famous - and quite different - examples of domestic architecture and enabled me to meet some very interesting people. It sparked an interest as to how we interpret and understand architecture and it led me into the world of linguistics and semiotics - fields that still enthral me to this day. This poem is about that journey.


The Unspoken Word

there never was a New York Five
only a catalogue
architecture beyond the ramparts 
of planners who never heard 
Corbusier’s trumpet 
or saw freedom when the walls
of Maison Dom-ino fell
black lines 
on white paper
that rose from the pages 
of a closed book

there is a clarity that emerges with the new
like understanding how a butterfly 
comes into being

so many firsts 

first time abroad 

first time flying

first time in the shadow of skyscrapers

first time driving in a foreign country

first time conversing in American English

       “You’ll know my aunt; she lives in Glasgow.”

high Jencks and the post-modern
deciphering the language of form
Long Island and through the Hamptons
silver sands, the rollers of the Atlantic
the edifices of the rich and famous
Chomsky laid the foundations 
Eisenmann shifted the columns 
Graves layered it with meaning

as Eco iced the cake 
we drank coffee with Gwathmey’s parents
chatting in the afternoon sunshine
framed in the abstract
drawn by geometry 
and distant connections

Meier’s modernism spoke 
lucidly in volumes
while I listened to the spaces
that signalled the semiotics of the new
rekindled from the white
white ashes of the Bauhaus

I thanked Saussure for the story
and many years later
read it again
by the banks of the Nervión
where Gehry’s Guggenheim
strong yet gentle
enveloped me in its unfolding narrative
embracing me as an old friend
I recognised but hadn’t seen in years

      “You haven’t changed a bit.
       just more mature and quite distinguished.”

it replied

      “You’ll know my aunt; she lives in Glasgow."
© 2020 Tom Langlands


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Poetry and photography copyright of Tom Langlands

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