Display Poem

I went to to the Werchter music festival in Belgium in the summer of 2003. I arrived late due to an impending rail strike that meant I had to re-arrange my train back. When I got to the festival ground, there was an enormous queue, and I stood in line as Björk performed her entire set. Seeing Radiohead and Underworld rescued the day! The second night I wasn't in to anyone playing the last set, so I sat down and thought about going back to the tent ...

I was sitting at a low point of the evening.
I was thinking of sleeping,
Not really seeing the point of staying up
To watch a band that I didn't like,
When a guy comes up and sits right down.
In exchange for tobacco that I didn't have,
He offers to share with me his joint.
We talked a while, exchanging views,
Reviews, and eventually a smile.

With heavy smoke in the air,
He shook my hand and left.
My thought of sleep drifted away,
And with it too, my ability to stand,
Or hold my face in one expression.
I wondered just how much I should care
I was incapable of walking to my tent.

While I could make a start I thought I'd give it a go.
But the bumps in the grass became mountains,
And each little dip, a crevasse.
Try as I might I did not think it wise to continue,
And lay down under the spot lights.
Whilst I could see bright lights and hear the last few songs,
I knew there was a chance I'd make it through.

But my grip on reality was fading really fast.
The lights were receding, and I did not know
If I were to die, or how long this feeling might last.
I knew the band had finished, I could see everybody leave,
But I just could not begin to stand.
It seems I couldn't ask the passing crowd for a helping hand.
Before the lights went out, I'll made one last attempt,
To move my reluctant and now useless limbs.

Somehow I was vertical and I could fall forwards,
One foot at a time in a direction
Which I had some hand in deciding.
I was moving and I knew where to go,
But there were so many people herding me in.
So many people going this way and that.
I hoped I could keep going as I weaved through,
All these bodies with their own intent.

I made my way to the turning,
The back of my throat was burning,
And it was the horizontal I was yearning.
But between me and my repose was an unlit path,
The nettles and a steep descent.
With torch in hand I stumbled to the arrow
Which marked the slope just two tents from my own.
I made it down and shone my torch around at things,
None of which I had ever seen before.

Up the hill with energy, still not entirely at my control.
Along two tents and down again,
Running headlong to the bottom with just six feet
To make a stop before foreign canvas would have ripped
The second I had tripped,
But as I watched the tent wall loom,
It seemed there was just the room,
To divert my path hard right,
And in the beam of torchlight,
I could see my threshing eurohike
And its entrance one step away.
Zip, zip, shoes, pillow, crash.

In the warmth of the morning, I found myself thanking
My little star, that I had made it through this far.
Never had I been out of it that much.
Never had I felt so completely out of touch,
That I knew I might never see the day,
To give it up and lay down under a night sky
Without capacity for asking why.