Poetry, Lyrics & The Black Stuff

Check out my friend Han's poetry. Its rather good. Manages to be emotionally raw and genuinely surreal at the same time. http://hanless.blogspot.com/index.html

He linked to my Waters Of March lyrics post so I thought I'd post some more.

This track I heard on rocking Radio 2 a long while ago. I taped it as I did almost everything at this stage. Perhaps prompted by the death of the lyricist, the Austrailian TV presenter and raconteur Clive James, I see its been reissued on CD.

More info here: http://www.peteatkin.com/dtouch.htm

Touch Has A Memory

Touch has a memory
Better than the other senses
Hearing and sight fight free
Touching has no defences
Textures come back to you real as can be
Touch has a memory

Fine eyes are wide at night
Eyelashes show that nicely
Seeing forgets the sight
Touch recollects precisely
Eyelids are modest yet blink at a kiss
Touching takes note of this

When in a later day
Little of the vision lingers
Memory slips away
Every way but through the fingers
Textures come back to you real as can be
Making you feel time doesn't heal
And touch has a memory

And this from Leonard Cohen. It gives me chills every time I hear it. This is one song I am sure will always be a part of my life.

Famous Blue Raincoat

Its four in the morning, the end of december
Im writing you now just to see if youre better
New york is cold, but I like where Im living
Theres music on clinton street all through the evening.

I hear that youre building your little house deep in the desert
Youre living for nothing now, I hope youre keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
Youd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without lili marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobodys wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see janes awake --

She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
Im glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

By the way the party's over... Watch the excellent TV version of Rob Newman's excellent stand-up show. Be both disturbed and entertained. I found out lots of things I would never have known about the West's crusade for oil, the media representation of it and the American economy if it hadn't been presented in easily digestable chunks by Newman. A favourite for some time, Newman uses his skill for the long, convoluted build-up to a punchline for socially conscious monologues.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=7374585792978336967