Crunchy Leaves
It is pointless trying to decide whether Zenobia is to be classified among happy cities or among the unhappy. It makes no sense to divide cities into these two species, but rather into another two: those that through the years and the changes continue to give their form to desires, and those in which desires either erase the city or are erased by it.
– page 35, Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, translation by William Weaver, 1972.
Autumn five years ago: I was finishing my master’s thesis in architecture at McGill University. It marked an important stage in the evolution of my ideas about architecture, urbanism, culture, and the environment. Although I was born in Vancouver, I chose to live in Montréal and over the past ten years I have become very implicated in the workings and non-workings of this city. As Calvino points out, it is not a question of happy or unhappy Montréal; rather, my implication in the city is about contributing to its evolution in a way that inspires us and connects us to our surrounding life-world. This is the basis of my ongoing definition of “ecosensual” and I’m planning to use the pages of Urbanphoto to further explore this theme.
The exploration will be sometimes in English and sometimes in French. It will be in both prose and poetry. My agenda is straightforward. How do we connect our urban lives to the natural world in a cycle that awakens us to it and, in turn, brings us greater respect for it? It goes beyond the current words such as sustainability, ecology, green this and that, and yet I think that the concept is quite simple: breathing fresh air, drinking clean water, listening to the rain, walking on crunchy leaves, and sharing ideas with our neighbours.
Healthy cities produce healthy people. Healthy people construct healthy cities. People and ideas evolve and these written words are part of that evolution as a contribution to civilisation and the pleasure of walking up well worn wood steps.
Neighbourhood
I dwell between river and mountain
Earth and sky.
The wind whispers from the west.
Early breakfasts in a warm café
Listening to galvanised rain.
Feeling the sun warm my back
On a cold winter’s day.
Sorbet sold on a shady street
During walks with friends.
Baked bread and basil tomatoes.
Fresh strawberries.
The scent of concrete in a summer rain.
A woollen scarf and dry feet
A warm baguette in your hand.
Woven stairs and watchful balconies.
Stained-glass in peeling frames.
Wrinkled stone and fired earth.
Shared meals around old tables.
I sit beside pooling glass.
Let the shadows lengthen, I will listen.
The liquor of darkness draws me in.
Hands and feet.
Our paths will cross again.
Tags: Montreal, Streetlife, Urban Design
Montreal Apartments
Christopher DeWolf says:
“Woven stairs and watchful balconies.
Stained-glass in peeling frames.
Wrinkled stone and fired earth.
Shared meals around old tables.”
That’s the neighbourhood I know.
Nice.
October 1st, 2006 at 8:57 pm
Ken Gildner says:
Good verse and good urban sense… An excellent start to my Monday morning!
October 2nd, 2006 at 9:47 am
Ethan Bayne says:
Some exquisite imagery here:
“galvanised rain”
“the scent of concrete”
“pooling glass”
“the liquor of darkness”
For me, these phrases evoke the distinctly urban amidst what could otherwise be pastoral scenes. But only in the city can they all be lived out in a single day. And only in the city is there the promise that tomorrow can be exactly the same, but only if you want it to.
I look forward to more of your contributions.
October 2nd, 2006 at 4:19 pm