Chichester Festival Theatre

CHICHESTER FESTIVAL THEATRE.

'Have you been to Chichester,' I asked,
‘Did you walk on a carpet of green beneath trees
stretching their leafy arms upward to the night sky?’
‘Aye,’ said the old man, ‘I was there.’
'Did you see the great, white crystal of light
glowing in the softness of a summer night?’

‘I saw bricks and mortar and the glass,’ he said.
‘I saw lights shine bright on photographs of actors,
some living and some long gone.’
‘Did you feel a tingle of anticipation
as lights dimmed and murmuring in the auditorium ceased?'
The old man smiled, wistful and serene,
'The strength is in the written word.' he said.

'Man's theatres and temples crumble; civilizations tumble;
yet the voice lives on.
Men of all ages, all generations will perform,
and speak the words of those who went before.
Thoughts, actions, characters, fantasies and passions all survive
within the scenes set down by authors' pens,
long after they are six feet under.'
And then he paused and smoothed his head,
'It makes you wonder boy, it makes you wonder.

All the great players, the building too, one day will turn to dust.
Each garret, wall and tower
each body, brain and heart, each soul and us.
All will be gone. Yet those who spared the time
to set their thoughts upon the page
remain immortal. Theirs was the inspiration
and they are remembered thus.'