A poet named this new colossus. <br />The service station told me, 'You can't miss it.' <br />Miles away, it seemed less than a pylon. <br /> <br />The traffic slowed, we all crept past it, <br />My eye only partially aligning the car, <br />Partially taking cognizance of the movement <br />Of this significant being's massive wings, <br />And as I went on into Newcastle <br />I watched it hold the sky behind, <br />Through driving mirrors realigned. <br /> <br />The birds were shitting on it gleefully. <br />It had been rusted artificially. <br />The men were finishing it from scaffolding. <br />It was causing car crashes every day <br />While people slowed to stare, or photograph - <br />Police policing it, at their wits' end. <br /> <br />I had to see the Angel to know <br />That the North abides within me. <br />I had to see the Angel, and come back <br />To Scotland, cured and reconciled. <br />A pilgrimage of place is also one of time <br />(The Angel of the North is art) . <br /> <br />It's this huge image, monster wearing travel wings, <br />One saga, seen from many angles, <br />Whole and tranquil, meaning many things.<br /><br />Sally Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-angel-of-the-north/
