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| BUDAPEST Budapest didn't impress me as I thought it might, the people lacked confidence in their own culture and were unwittingly obsessed by the West. The enormous stables in the centre of the city housing many hundreds of horses affected me greatly and over the following months I began to reflect on the people, their history and their future and wrote the following poem which was published in Budapest as part of a text/installation manuscript: THE HORSES OF THE MAGYAR The deaf horses of the Magyar, go round and round waiting to be shot. The mute horses of the Magyar, go round and round waiting to be shot. The blind horses of the Magyar, go round and round waiting to be shot. The horses of the Magyar have no tails have no manes or eyes or teeth. The horses of the Magyar cannot smell they are fed on beefburgers and french fries. The horses of the Magyar stand in rows waiting to be told the whip hand has shrivelled and gone the scars are there under the skin. The horses of the Magyar, go round and round, waiting to be told
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