What better day than a Sunday for some early morning reflection on our corporeal deficiencies and the fleeting nature of our built legacy? Take it away Percy Bysshe.
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Shelley’s poem leapt to mind when Husband forwarded me this link to French photographers Yves Marchand’s and Romain Meffre’s 2010 book “The Ruins of Detroit”. The book selectively documents a multitude of important civic buildings – some impossibly gorgeous – that lie in various states of ruin. The post-apocalyptic-style photographs are stunning but I’m haunted by them, feeling sick to my stomach, when I consider that they were once intrinsic parts of dynamic, thriving communities. These buildings overflowed with people, with life. If such important, expensive and aesthetically-pleasing homes, apartments, factories, theatres and schools could reach such abject degradation in such a short period of time, is it folly to believe that my simple village will survive an economic disaster, post-oil universe, war or severe natural catastrophe in a meaningful way?
My discomfort is a reminder of how much of my middle-class generation, in North America in particular, has been sheltered from the pain of wars, epidemics, economic calamities and extreme natural catastrophes. Not so for generations past or for so many around the world who face debilitating conditions on a daily basis. I’m not sure these photographs would elicit the same anxious emotions from them as they do from me; economic, social, political and environmental stability offers the luxury of worrying about such things. Perhaps it is a Sunday morning reminder that I can be grim or I can be grateful for my lot in life, which has been extraordinarily blessed. I choose grateful and I think that’s worthy of an Amen.