As one who has been intrigued by ruins and remnants of the past long before I read Christopher Woodward’s In Ruins, ages ago, I was interested in this blog posting about Seven Abandoned Cities, with its accompanying evocative images.
I’m not totally sure whether it’s the historical cataclysms that have left these places un-improved, the human stories and poems that they tell, the strange beauty in these fragments of lives or something else, but it’s something that has always interested me, and recurred often in my own writing. The past, the pastness of the past. Lives that were just as vibrant and intensely lived as now, but now which aren’t. The marble statues on Delos in the Greek Islands, the abandoned farm-house at the edge of the suburbs, the remains of the cement works at Fossil Beach, the rusted foundations in the rocks of an old pier, these things ring with meaning for me.