KELVINGROVE, GLASGOW
We had to go – years of sighing
over illustrations in design books
made it imperative – we had to look.
Who dared say it first?
You were full of well-tutored
respect for established opinion
but you also knew the making craft,
the strength of joints, the angles
that support the human spine.
‘Those chairs’- I whispered,
intimidated by the museum hush -
‘they don’t look very comfortable’,
thinking of those Glasgow matrons
taking tea and gossip together
in rival tea rooms, undomesticated
in fur jackets, heels and gloves.
You smiled, relishing your own
affection for a making tradition
so like your Cotswold heroes.
Never mind the Rennie Mackintosh,
the cutlery made you weep.
Vivien Jones
Poem of the Day in The Herald
6 July 2010
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