By Ian Robinson
(with apologies to T. S. Eliot)
 
The Naming of Cultural Centres is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your popularity games,
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, such Centres have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that describes what it's meant for,
Such as Wonthaggi Workman's Club or Church of St James,
Such as Cowes Community and Cultural Centre,
All of them sensible explanatory names.
There are much longer names to impress politicians,
Appellations you'd love to stand up and disclaim,
Such as Royal Australian College of Gynaecologists and Obstetricians
An extraordinarily sensible informative name.
But I tell you, an edifice needs a name that's much shorter,
That is easy to say and comes quickly to mind,
Else how can it keep its head above water,
And enter the vocab of normal mankind?
Of names of this sort, I can give you a look-see,
The Shard, or the Roxy, or the famous Old Vic,
The Flea House, the Gabba, the Espy, the G.
Names that are easy to bring to mind quick.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you'll never intuit;
The name that no human research can discover--
But BASS COAST COUNCIL knows, and they may come to rue it.
When you notice a ticket holder in utter confusion,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in extreme convolution
As he tries to decipher the ticket's venue name:
Its reprehensible and indefensible
Quite unpronounceable
Far-fetched and forgettable throwaway Name.