Euphorium, The Roundhouse, London
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Your support makes all the difference.The Roundhouse up in Camden Town –
A fine old building; you may know it –
Has something called Euphorium,
Based on a dream that laudanum
Brought to a famous poet.
Some Californians happened on
That lovely vision Kubla Khan
And thought that they could re-create
The bliss experienced by STC,
Employing, to achieve that happy state,
Not drugs but modern techno-trickery.
But oh! the chasm 'twixt the thought
and deed!
If Coleridge this Euphorium had known,
He'd not have been presented with
the seed
Of nursery rhyme, not e'en the basest
screed.
He would have brought forth only wail
and moan.
One at a time, the patrons enter here.
They're offered red or white wine or
a beer.
I chose the beer. A sweet American lass
Enquired, "Would you like it in a glass?"
Another, with black nails and
kohl-rimmed eyes,
Led me to where I took, with mild
surmise,
A "magic pouch" and earphones and
a tip –
"Go slow, or you'll regret it" – for my trip.
Upon a throne within a darkened room
I heard how Coleridge fell asleep,
and then
The chair swung round! Another
gloomy den!
A figure moved! I knew not what,
nor whom!
"'Tis MORPHEUS," a voice intoned,
and bade
Me obey this slender youth, in
sweatshirt clad.
I rose, and with unholy dread
I suffered this act unorthodox:
He raised his hands, and on my head
I found a large, black magic box!
This rare device contained a
looking-glass
In which I could see coloured figures
pass.
As I proceeded slowly, my way feeling,
Observing them suspended from the
ceiling.
And as I walked, three voices spoke
The poem, and noises faint were made.
I gazed in wonder on figures quaint
From cardboard formed and poster paint
(Or so they seemed) – a joke
That I did not find funny.
Indeed, I thought it rude
To ask one's hard-earned money
For this, so drab and crude.
To all who hope that they will see
That sunny dome, those caves of ice,
I say, O friends, be guided by me.
Beware! Beware! I say to thee
This witless, dull chicanery
You will find dear at any price.
This show would make a saint concede
That drugs, not art, are what you need
To catch a glimpse of Paradise.
To 20 Oct (020-7478 0151)
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