You Know My Name by Jonny Woo

Marketed and Promoted  

August 22, 2016

To celebrate the inaugural Art Night London on the Northbank, the fabulous Jonny Woo created this poem for us...

I know what you think of me.

That I am a ‘Has Been.’

An unremarkable inconvenience.

A passing through.

Can’t think of anywhere else,

On the way to, second choice rendezvous.

 

A suntrap, a wind tunnel

A polluted, choking, stone and concrete, asphalt funnel.

I’ll be the lesser man and take it in my stride

Let someone else have his or her moment,

For sure I’ve had many.

Mine is a quiet pride.

 

You just see an ordinary bloke.

But I’m working hard for you.

An escape from and gateway to

An artery pumping life into your London’s beating heart.

Since way before your humble start.

Once the only vital link between the pleasure and the purse

It’s me you’ll pass along before you amble through that majestic arch called Admiralty

And stroll the rose pathway to see a Queen.

 

But I won’t brag like a ‘Knightsbridge’

Or turn my nose up like a ‘Mayfair’.

Or jostle you like an ‘Oxford’

Or tempt you like a ‘Bond’

Or pretend to be someone I’m not like a ‘Portobello’.

I’m neither a street, nor a road, nor an avenue, nor a lane.

I’m just a ‘The’.

From a song, a magazine,

A cigarette or a game,

You know my name.

 

Pounded by tourists lured by theatre lights

Pummeled by red buses spewing workers into the fire.

Thrashed by diesel cabs ferrying fashionable mobs.

Ground by midnight limousines hiding powdered faces behind tinted glass

Sighing as they slope through the doors of The Savoy,

‘At last!’

 

But if you stopped for a moment

I’d caress you with tales of the palaces that rose where a sandwich shop stands.

I’d reveal the size and the make of the shoes of Huxley, Wilde, Kipling and Woolf

I’d let tell you what it feels like to have your skin brushed by fine silk hems

I’ll burn your ears with the secrets of sinners.

I’ve rubbed shoulders with kings

I’ve laughed with all manner of queens.

I’ve prayed for forgiveness and clemency.

And, if you dare to explore my fingers,

I’ll show you the real London.

 

I’m older than you

But, I feel like a young man welcoming the world.

I’ve seen so much

Yet I optimistically wait my renaissance.

 

As the tides of The Thames ebb and flow.

So you’ll come and so you’ll go.

But I’ll still be here, stoically grand.

Not street, not road, nor avenue, nor lane.

You know my name.

I am The Strand.