A building with no wings

This is the second of a short series of posts about my trip to Barcelona. You can read the first part here.

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A building with no wings

A 19th century kick-starter.
For generations to fall in love with ever after
and after all they will
fall
on their knees
on their swords
fall in pools of light.
Light that has fallen,
cascading,
amplified by hyperbole in the fabric of the wall
calling out the sun to fall
through the canopy of sloping arches,
with bark
24, 48, 96
sides
as it climbs.
A walk through is a starry night’s escapade,
a vitamin D cavalcade.
No riot of colour
but liquid dappled and flecked
in shades without shapes.
Stained glass shards
depicting no figures,
just light on the water.
Not clouds that seem to hold visions,
more like looking up at a lake,
at midnight and noon
and daybreak.
A building unearthed from its slumber
built by course hands with no recourse to
thunder.
A trainee carpenter at the start of the tour
striking a chord at the beloved ‘cathedral of the poor’
designed by another thirty something craftsman
nearly two thousand years later.
The first architect retired
and Gaudi inspired,
stepped in,
with a cryptic grin,
who worked with an even handedness
before letting on to the
madness.
A project to bring people together
before the falloff the Soviet Union,
Before double you double you 1 and 2,
like forever.
Computers in the 80s confirmed the unknow
– that you can rely on an inverted dome.
Gaudi was right
– a chain suspended
let it drop and as your jaw and heart does
trace the distribution
which once upended
will be a supported, balanced – no need for buttresses – solution.
So Gaudi lifted his A game and did away with the A frame.
Buttresses took flight
and disappeared out of site.
Gaudi saw the nativity facade complete
a cornucopia of Jesus family inc grandparents,
the journeys they went
fruit, animals, all manner of things,
watched over by angels without wings.
Gaudi dead and his workshop burned
what was learned had to be returned
in fragments
by the architects who had taken note.
Massive computers and scarce paperwork
a city watched and hoped
as models made painstakingly, achingly
were put back together.
A new breathtaking angular facade of the passion,
overscoring and underscoring each familiar action.
An unchained, unrestrained Jesus picks up the chains and holds them himself
so he can be whipped
with eyes haunting and silent lips.
Oh Peter will break your heart.
And a third facade and more ‘hats’ to be added
to the existing towers
this beautiful work empowers
a city who has taken it to its heart
– the product of many hands
with a definite start
and an end that fades as messengers sans wings laugh at our plans.
Everyone who comes to visit
builds it.
With our money and with our imagination.
A receptacle,
an expanding, inflating spectacle
that we elevate
as our heart rate accelerates.
Strange and odd yet reminiscent of nature, familiar,
embedded and engraved with Our Father in countless translations,
host to countless generations –
The Sagrada Familia.

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3 comments

  1. […] This is the third in my series of posts about my visit to Barcelona. Part one was about being let into the inner sanctum. Part two was about a building without wings. […]

  2. […] post in my Barcelona series. Part one was a test of coordination. Part two was a flight without wings. Part three was me picking up on pieces of […]

  3. […] never was expected to feel the sun on its face was suddenly to be. There are shades of the Sagrada Familia […]

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