1. |
A Clod of Peat
03:24
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|
A clod of peat seems
an easy cut
and a simple stack.
I carry
a different kind of weight.
I could work between these fine fellows for
sixteen summer weeks
and they still would not know.
We talk rot
and laugh at local misfortune.
I carefully count through my coins
whilst
they scatter their own on rough wooden boards.
At some point I shall make a show of leaving
as though I’ve somewhere to go
I shall put on my coat and say my goodbyes
And slowly shuffle next door.
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2. |
I attempt these lines
02:13
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|
I attempt these lines
in hope they will somehow reply,
telling me:
‘And this is how you will live.
This is the path that will lead you through,
here is the answer you were seeking.’
But for now, they are achingly quiet.
Wounded,
or shy,
perhaps.
I look over my shoulder
far too often.
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3. |
Here are the dragonfly
01:26
|
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|
Here are the dragonfly
you loved.
‘This! This is why we’re here!’
The long, hidden pond,
the still, the warmth around it…
It is ours alone,
for now.
But watch your step
for the moss on the water
can be deceptive.
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4. |
Cat with Mouse
02:03
|
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|
These wonders,
these grass held
over-high cliffs,
frame mountains of water.
If we dare look below, we see
rocks that would crush you or I
being played with
as though
cat with mouse.
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5. |
Sleep, Sinéad, Sleep
03:45
|
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|
Sleep,
Sinéad,
sleep.
and be aware of my love.
And if you should dream, then dream of us,
entwined.
Not the panic,
nor the fall,
nor the loss
Let me deal with those.
I tell myself – that was the only moment in your life
you were ever alone.
As if that would be enough.
Oh, sleep,
Sinéad,
sleep,
And be aware of my love.
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6. |
||||
|
When we first met
your eyes were open and kind.
We spoke of
Art, Music, and Photography,
the big things, you know?
Safe in conversation with another who would understand.
And the fury of the real world? – Shh! Forget that!
I mentioned
I wanted to be a poet -
‘I AM a poet!’
and you laughed
for you knew
every tickle, every joy
that laugh would bring me.
‘Come with me, poet,
for I know a place
of such beauty
the words will fall from you
like dew drops
stretching awake on a spring morning.’
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7. |
||||
|
These two –
Real, precise,
and –
Ours.
(Well, you wanted answers!)
What shall we do with them?
We shall fill them to the brim
with our love
and our hope.
Never let them believe
even for a moment
That they are not
The spark of the light of our every morning.
(Be they brats OR saints – for who knows what YOUR family brings.)
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8. |
I pull a tiny leaf
02:02
|
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|
How and where my path began,
up, up to this summer,
I cannot say,
but I am full with thanks.
I hear the birds,
I see the reflections on the water,
I skin the bark off a twig, with a knife,
it’s sharp, short blade an old friend.
I rub my fingers together to clear the earth.
Laid down atop this forest floor,
we drink fresh water, direct from the stream.
I pull a tiny leaf from between my teeth
then pop it back in and chew.
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9. |
||||
|
This morning has not brought comfort
only a sharp reminder –
a slap in the face,
a paper cut,
and a thump upon the heart.
This evening has not brought comfort
there’s no relief in the spark and jump of the fire
they’re too deadly for the memories they bring
and the poker too red to touch.
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10. |
||||
|
In the heart of the matter, during the event,
I didn’t even notice the silence.
Between onlookers, heads spinning,
And the waves, screaming.
Then –
That bare realisation.
Clawed at, hit, unstoppable.
‘There is now nothing more I can do’.
Pulled ashore by strangers, their fee
a silent, staring.
The Garda arrive and
‘Was this your wife and is this your brother and what were they
doing out there together?’
Our lives. Split and taken and noted, grey pencil upon white paper.
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11. |
||||
|
A scattering of sand on glass
and I am awake.
The room then silent, ice, still.
I feel you, around me,
and I am lucky.
Until the rain.
More sand, thrown harder,
wet and heavy now, shut outside.
How you’d pull yourself upon me on nights like this,
we would share our warmth, our bodies
whilst the curtains slowly danced.
Wait for me, my love.
Wait for me beyond these fearful nights, beyond these overran years.
I will raise ours, and I will raise them well, for us.
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12. |
||||
|
They’d sing songs for this, you know?
In the old days.
To spread the news.
Well –
Come gather around me and I’ll tell you a tale
Of when I was younger, before it all turned to hell
Of when I had a lover that I loved so well
Oh, come gather, gather around me…
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13. |
||||
|
We would hide ourselves within
the city’s bars
where we could dance
Your flowing red skirt
And the strength of you!
to peel me once more
from the side of the wall
Too strong a temptation.
Off we go again
in amongst the smoke
and the stares
the golden, the black
We quicken, we rush and we share
over and over
until your legs grow tired
but long, long after my own.
Oh! What a life we had,
us two young Gaels.
There were diamonds in the rough of the roads, those nights.
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14. |
||||
|
The road over can be fun
with company,
sure.
The laughter,
the collapse,
the sharing.
But solo?
No.
It’s a killer of a walk, this,
when you’re sipping regret
awaking with your brain outside in
and your teeth inside out.
And anyways –
the next morning
everything is still there
it’s just been framed
by
A sharp kick to the side of the head.
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15. |
||||
|
After all this,
this declaration
of love business,
we built a campfire
in the ruins
of a castle.
The stars peered down
applauding,
despite their distance
‘So!
we fit in somewhere,
after all!’
I see us, old, and sat upon
a rough-hewn wooden porch.
I see us drinking a toast
to life
and to one another,
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||||
16. |
The Lough
02:02
|
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17. |
A blissful, lunatic fall
00:47
|
|||
|
Is that a scream of delight,
as we fall down these hills, as though chased?
As we raise to a canter,
should we beware of the danger?
No. It is not our job to question
such a blissful, lunatic fall.
So, I take your hand in mine
but it’s not to slow us, not to slow us...
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||||
18. |
||||
|
You? You were lucky. You escaped.
I’ve yet to leave the scene.
And I now need three lungsful
for every single breath.
Perhaps here, they will know you, somehow.
Perhaps here, which was once our heaven.
There are sticks by the door that you gathered for kindling
that I cannot bear to burn.
There’s a pot of dried herbs, brought over
from France,
their fragrance, almost gone.
There are books you’ve cherished
and written in.
I search through them all, looking for clues.
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||||
19. |
||||
|
We’re similar.
We were similar.
Our worlds
just
Irish peat and Scottish clay.
Your soaking Atlantic mist, somehow more worn
and historic than
My own cold haar.
On a good day, when I walk these cliffs
the roar, the humbling,
I feel the tide
pushed you out and pulled me back.
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20. |
||||
|
All I wanted was here.
And I thought,
blindly, perhaps,
once I had it,
I could keep it.
Then, shimmering,
your world took you back.
The beauty, the land you loved,
could not resist you.
Sometimes, that is truly what I believe.
And now, I must spend every moment
edging ever further away
from that quick, glancing smile, that kiss,
and that final touch.
Oh my darling, how I long for you
|
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James Yorkston Scotland, UK
This is the home of the limited run releases of James Yorkston, a low-rung sangster from the East Neuk o' Fife, Scotland. For James' official Domino Records releases, his books, live dates and such, please go here - www.jamesyorkston.co.uk/shop/
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