Continuation...

How very sad.

On another occasion, the poet had attempted to charm a young lady back to his ‘place’ for some ‘coffee’. He had hinted, merely hinted, at the facilities available in his ‘place’ but had not even made cursory mention of his room or the myriad of unsung, neutered and unborn creations within it. It was lucky that the room had not been able to overhear this conversation, for it neither reflected well on the poet, or on the room itself, which might have reasonably expected to be cited as a highlight at least of the poet’s abode.

But the young lady had not accompanied the poet back to the room. Or to any other room, in fact, although this was not known to the room. If the poet had other liaisons in other rooms, then his room knew nothing of them. If he was conducting passionate affairs then the room witnessed them not. If the poet was shuddering silently (or very noisily) with another poet, a model, a tea-lady or a whore, the room shared not in the secret.

So the room witnessed no passion at all. No love. In fact, it could not even conceive of the idea of love. Let alone express it or think of it. A loveless room, in a loveless marriage of rental convenience to an unspeaking, tyrannical and even cruel partner. Without love, without trust or confidence, after a while the room began to dream strange dreams. In fact, more like murmurs than actual dreams, as the latter would imply consciousness which, as has been made clear, the room did not possess.


The murmurs began one quiet morning, with the poet still not returned from work the night before. A low susurrus began, possibly underneath the bed, creeping like a slow-moving bassline, vibrating the unsettled dust. The vibration built until it could have been audible (had anyone been listening), and peaked in what may have been a gulping sound, which knocked a discarded birthday card over on the bedside table.

The poet might have taken this as a sign – of what we will never know – had he been less preoccupied, or more sensitive to the physical state of his room. When he returned, for whatever reason, the card’s position made no visible impression on him. This was deeply frustrating, but for whom we cannot yet tell.

But what was important was that the room had somehow channeled its frustration, its shared loneliness, its anger and its wish to be recognised into a physical act. It would not be long before it could express its views and wishes. But what would those be…?