There are definite perks to being a poet. You are entitled to gaze at the moon with authoritative longing, to peek into the dark chambers of the world’s most secret heart and read the graffiti stenciled there. You can talk nonsense to your kids. Another is getting to attend conferences where in between singing for one’s supper there are privileged glimpses to be savoured of others’ worlds.
And this is how I came to be commissioned to write about the Internet of Things for a conference on the future of the workplace, and find myself high up on level 39 at No. 1 Canary Wharf, one of London’s ...
There are approximately 452 more words in this article.
To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.
If you are already a member, please Sign in
