These broken, carved fragments lie on the ground outside St George's Church, Bloomsbury, which is emerging from the tail end of major restoration. It's a great church in a small space, tucked between other buildings on a busy street. I'd never seen it, or at least never looked at it, before. I didn't visit the grand interior that day. Now that it's entered my consciousness, I'm sure I will. Instead, I paused in the rain and looked at these fragments lying in the fenced-in yard that faces a narrow back-street. They were compelling, full of shape and texture, each one a pattern and a story and together a complex, labyrinthine pattern of stories.
Opposite the church, across the narrow back-street, are the offices of the London Review of Books, whose resident designer and art critic, Peter Campbell, has written about the history and restoration of the church.
I've been reading quite a lot of poetry recently, slowly feeling a little bit less of a stranger to it. I thought: the church is like a grand, classic novel and these carved fragments, grouped here on the ground, are like poetry. They're a different use of stone, a different, freer but more concentrated use of visual language, spiralling through many layers of connection and meaning.
More photos here.
(This post became my contribution to Edition 8 of the >Language >Place blog carnival - featured theme: 'the poetry of place')