1. |
Inside a Soul
02:22
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Let if fall
If, perhaps, who knows
Adventure or happenstance
The door softly closes on possibility
Goodbye the undiscovered
A future, distant horizon dimmed
Without investment, words are muffled
Like dulled hammers upon the strings
The melody of choice, rich with reward
Peters out without praise
Pray for yourself instead
Put it into preoccupation
And wonder later why night fell on her daydreams
Or instead, lay down proud prejudice
The fear you may be dimmed by the phosphorescence of her
And coax, kindle, breathe promise into life
A new breed; the animal at her core
Poised to pounce; the huntress
Skilled, ready to range the vastness of her lands
Savannah stretched out ahead
Grasslands, mountains, landscapes lit up
Landmarks where she tried, cried but did not die
Hope is the reservoir in her oil lamp
Urged forward by the feathery fuel of her family
Light upon her shoulders
Or let if fall
If, maybe, could, can
Shut in your fear filled palm
Can’t, won’t, shouldn’t, don’t
Steal, murder, extinguish
The universe inside her soul
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2. |
Felingerrig
03:33
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3. |
The Swallow's Tail
03:45
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4. |
Dilin O' Deamhas
03:50
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5. |
Skibbereen
04:30
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6. |
Aran Fawddwy
04:30
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7. |
Hawkward
03:55
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There’s a space
About six foot one, by a thousand miles
Between me and him
A physical gap
A mental pause
And in the fresh air off that cliff ledge
In the updrafts and the currents
I am soaring
And I will fly ‘till my wings pack up
‘Till hunger crushes my ribs
I can no longer return
To land, ledge or perch
‘Till I drop into the ocean
Spent, without regret
For that split second of sky
Means more than any other
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8. |
Cadair Idris
04:11
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9. |
The Applecross Inn
04:08
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10. |
The Hills of Greenmore
03:31
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11. |
Pipistrelles at 6pm
01:46
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12. |
The Bonny Boy
03:51
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13. |
My Father's Reel
06:47
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Expectant pauses…the evergreen
Or someone else’s pregnancy
Birthing another’s dreams
Itinerant, tinkering from there to here
Irish muscle for hire, road or field
Pulling spuds, lifting shovel, riveting
Invited nowhere, expected to fit in
Send bread to mama, feed the flock
With cash as cold as the Irish sea
One eye on the boss, the other looking for a Mammy
Strong-hipped woman, no nonsense, God fearing
Ready to bear a lifetime of servitude for her man
Boss, Father, ruler, master
Grateful if he doesn’t gamble, stray or punch
But drunken fumblings make bumps
And two becomes three, then four
Four is a family, him at the head, her the tail
And the kiddies in the middle, dancing a jig
The hornpipe of a day’s work
The flats and sharps, the wind and sparks
Hard words, soft looks
The 6/8 of argument, the 4/4 of sleep
Slow and steady
Staccato of baby pipes
Hug of bass breath, lullaby of flutes
Water, feed, rock and watch them grow
Skin, teeth and tummies filled from those
Things you pulled from the simple soil
Rich, earthy days, punctuated by bars of static
The white noise of his temper
The diatonic contradiction of bible and curse
Her pleas unheard as daughter fights to keep son and Dad apart
Rippling currents of a riot, contained in a reel
Pulsing with primal purpose
Locked horns of the deer, masculinity at stake
Big promises expunged like over-ripe fruits
Mouldy, damp dreams shut in cupboards
Accept the path he directs her towards
Cut out of his hand-me-downs
Anything but poverty
Fame the antithesis of nowt
Hang your velvet cloak over the threadbare
And direct eyes towards what you framed, clever conjuror
Catching fireflies in your jar, waving
Over here! This way please
Come and hear my Father’s reel
I can play it fast or slow
The notes slip together, a jumble of no’s
He wrote it for himself a long time ago
But couldn’t get the bloody thing to go
Too many, too few, only so many tries
‘Till it toppled, fell in on itself
Needing a smaller hand, a gentler touch
His child
Practice, approval, nods and sighs
The long awaited full gaze; my Daddy’s smile
Him looking at me
Him, me, him, me; his hymn
My Father’s reel, my Daddy’s song
Tripping from my tongue, it’s wrong, wrong, wrong
I love animals, wanted to be a vet
Bright as a button, not your pet
A big brain, needing, wanting, searching
For someone to notice, guide and invest
A mother tiger to coax me out into the wild
Not clip my claws or bite my breast
Wings not a club foot
Books not brakes
A ladder not a trip wire
A hand, a torch, some oil
Not the grenade of your disapproval
Not ladle after ladle of comfort food to fatten
Too fat to be popular
Fat enough to be bullied
Kept me grateful, kept me home
Close to Mum, far away from my horizons
Fat kept me small, infant to your adult
My Mother’s song
Don’t leave me this way
Don’t leave me with him, I pray
Be my pal, companion, confidant
And I’ll give you everything you want
Nature, nurture, reversal, abort
I will not sing my Mother’s song
I will not play my Father’s reel
I would rather break my own fingers
Pull out my own tongue
Gouge out both eyes, close up both ears
Than utter one more semibreve
Pull the lid of the piano shut
Pack away and un-piece the flute
Un-string the fiddle, un-skin the drum
Turn off the light and close the door
Matri-patriachal music no more
For in the promise of silence absolute
Lies the clatter and rattle, hum and drone
Clang and crash, pitch and slide
Slur and stride, signature and time
Crunch and sway
The complex concerto of my day
A sonata of sunbeams
A mountain cantata
A spectral of birds
Nature’s wonders turned into words, words, words
Crescendo of roads
A stanza of friends
Love in the final cadenza
An opera in three
Birth, life lived, death
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O'Hooley & Tidow Huddersfield, UK
ENGLAND'S ANSWER TO THE MCGARRIGLES
* * * * *
GUARDIAN
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