About Face

Poets Anonymous were invited by the Croydon Clocktower to the About Face exhibition, held between 12 October 2002 and 19 January 2003, to write poems inspired by the exhibits. Some of the poems were displayed with the exhibits, there was a poetry reading held in the gallery and a pamphlet of poems and line drawings was published, a few of which are below.

The line drawings are by John Richards. The drawings below are:

Head-strong - a bronze by Laurence Edwards, 2001
Replica of a bust of Elizabeth Pepys - plastercast by an artist unknown after John Bushnell, 1970s
Man and Child - ceramic by Sean Henry, 2001
The Vicar and His Sister - papier mâché and wire by Peter Rush, 1985-86

Headstrong There's a man on my head, building himself within a scaffold, using my skull, my flesh and myself, as his foundation. He's driven stakes right through my brain, two more in my cheeks, and at the base of my cranium. He's everything that I cannot be. He whispers to me, but I cannot see him. His feet stamp on my stretched skin. Once I was strong; now he's sucking out my energy fields. A warrior, he throws sharpened spears to cut in deep. He likes to eat his enemy's brains. When I lose my consciousness, then he will take my identity. But I don't mind now. Already I'm dancing on top of this head, re-building myself&ldots; Eamer O'Keeffe

Elizabeth Pepys: 1640 - 10 November 1669 after a marble attributed to John Bushnell I know he will portray me With a look of surprise That is how life used me How my marriage used me. Coming on my husband & the maid coming on my husband & the next maid & the next surprising them & Mrs Bagwell & each time I was surprised believing him that that one was the last then this & this & Mrs Lane I should have learnt Now as the artist sketches from the life & I must hold still a long afternoon, wondering where my husband is, I know he draws my naivety my trust & its betrayal - a minor Gorgon turning hurt to stone Peter L.Evans

Man and Baby Madonna and Child, this is not. Straight lines and angles, baby grasped by its groin and leg, Man stands stiffly, holding this baby (whose face he can't see) in a one-armed grip, his other arm hangs away from himself. This man is tense. He's posing for this. The child's a thing, a prop, an object. Man is asking "Where do you want me to put this ? I've done my stint - I've carried this kid for half an hour, and I want to go down to the pub now. See how patient I am ! Oh, how long more do I have to stand still The baby's remarkably calm, with a slightly stunned expression. Perhaps it's accustomed to being grabbed by Dad ? determined to do his bit. (He hasn't an inkling what that really means). Give the man a nappy, and see if he can manipulate babygro, baby, nappy and pins, with just one arm, and face to face! Eamer O'Keeffe

Baby and Man I wish he wouldn't grab me that way, it makes me sore. If I stay very still, it's not too painful. I hope that he never changes my nappy. The safety pins would be pinned to my flesh. I don't cry much. I feel sorry for him. I bet his dad didn't even do this. I owe it to Mum to give him a chance. He calls himself a New Man. But he doesn't like faces very much (he rarely sees mine). Just wait until I can talk; my first words will be "Dad, get lost, go down to the pub and prop it up. Mum and I can manage quite well on our own". That's if I survive his man-handling, to become a grown-up. And I'm telling you - No child of mine will have to put up with such a facade. An absent dad would be better than this. Eamer O'Keeffe

Miss Blandford Ladies act with decorum, you were told Countless times. Still within your slight Frame there exists, the rebellious girl Of manifold, juvenile escapades. Even your daredevil brother, has been Tamed into respectability, by the church. The colourful handkerchief adding that Touch of defiance, to staid conformity. Disciplined through numerous years; Now you can defy your dead peers, Enjoying the peace that brings you The freedom, to be old and eccentric. Who cares if you only wear one Earring; that your jumper is grubby; You are comfortable within yourself, Your friends, the birds don't complain. You sit in companionable silence With your clerical brother, but your eyes Are never still, the arthritic hands Wait, like the rest of your body, as you Peer so intently at the far horizon; In an instant you will snatch your Binoculars to your eyes, for that Quick sight of a feathered friend. 'Afternoon tea', the vicar suggests, Politeness prevails, except, for that Last, longing scan of the sky line. Jean Wearn Wallace

The Vicar And His Sister The Vicar and his sister sitting on the garden bench, he's dwelling on his sermon, she needs her thirst to quench. But her feet are tired with standing so she stays just a little longer, lifting her face to the sunlight until she feels a trifle stronger. Her brother is quite saintly but alas, domestic he is not he won't think to put the kettle on or make tea in the teapot. The Vicar and his sister are resting on the garden seat, he thinks it should be teatime how she longs for him to get it for a treat! Maisie Dance

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