HARVEY, P.J.
|
The aish buds wait The frogs and twoads in lagwood holes Hedgehogs in their leafy ditch All waiting for His kingdom
The dead brakes That host the holly's bloody beads They are His crown of thorns He will rise again
Unray I Unray I for en
I zing, I'm zinging through the forest I hover in the holway And laugh into the leaves
Unray I Unray I for en
And merge to meesh Just a charm in the woak With the chalky children Of evermore
|
De knoppen van de es wachten. De kikkers en padden in boomholen en egels in hun lommerrijke greppel, allemaal wachtend op Zijn koninkrijk.
Het dode struikgewas dat de bloedige hulstbessen herbergt, zij zijn Zijn doornenkroon en hij zal verrijzen.
Ik ontkleed me, ontkleed me voor hem.
ik zing, ik zing door het bos, ik zweef in de holle weg en lach naar de bladeren.
Ik ontkleed me, ontkleed me voor hem.
en versmelt tot mos, gewoon een totem in de eik met de spokenkinderen van immermeer.
|
Down By The Water
I lost my heart
Under the bridge
To that little girl
So much to me
And now I'm old
And now I holler
She'll never know
Just what I found
That blue eyed girl
She said "no more"
That blue eyed girl
Became blue eyed whore
Down by the water
I took her hand
Just like my daughter
Won't see her again
Oh help me Jesus
Come through this storm
I had to lose her
To do her harm
I heard her holler
I heard her moan
My lovely daughter
I took her home
Little fish. big fish. Swimming in the water.
Come back here, man. gimme my daughter
....
Let England shake
The west's asleep, let England shake
Weighted down with silent dead
I fear our blood won't rise again
Won't rise again
England's dancing days are done
Another day, Bobby, for you to come
Home and tell me indifference
Is won, won, won
Smile, smile Bobby, with your lovely mouth
Pack up your troubles, let's head out
To the fountain of death and splash about
Swim back and forth, back, back and laugh out loud
Until the day is ending
And the birds are silent in the branches
And the insects are courting in the bushes
And by the shores heavy stones are falling
Orlam
Hook Farm bent my infancy
So I fled through the back door
for the company of Gore Woods,
its sooneres, eltroot and soft meesh.
There I wept intimacies
into crypts of bracken and fern
Twoad's meat, Jew’s ears
and goocoo spettle sustained
me through Underwhelem*
a west country misty outstep
with three hoar-stones
The Golden Fleece and the Red Post
.....
*Voul village in a hag-ridden hollow
All ways to it winding, all roads to it narrow.