mm lovely blessed journey

so i trekked out to greenwich to see mm who was fantastic. multi-lingual talking most of the way through her set got me riled (the whole smoky room looking impotently over at these two rude tables) but like any number of london annoyances, acceptance of the whole sound, mm with yabbering, came eventually. particularly as she finished with a bruce springsteen cover that ended so quietly, bringing the whole place to silence...

mainly her originals though, beautiful voice, great songs, lovely arrangements with fellow canadian playing guitar against her acoustic. great proffesional sound, all the way from canada.

so i had my lyric writing book on me, and though the journey out didn't do that much for me, the journey back gave me almost the whole second verse and part of the third. the journey back was blessed in a number of ways in fact. i caught the DLR just before midnight and i was right at the front of the train travelling through docklands at night. driverless trains means seeing out of the front windows... the isle of dogs looking eerie as ever with huge tower blocks and very old communities. then bank station almost dead, echoing tannoys in other parts of the station, my train 14 minutes away so i go another way, central line to oxford circus where i get on a victoria line train straight away and there is the philip larkin poem i've been missing, not only that but as we pull into finsbury park there is a picadilly line train almost level with us, so we see them just before the platform, that wierd gap between lines whilst still in the tunnel...

and to top it all a huge downpour accompanied me to my door, giving me another lyric and also the atmosphere i need for this song, the sound is incredible, walking along with my left foot completely waterlogged, gutters overflowing, the percussion of millions of raindrops...

and balthazara welcomes me inside the house.

Cut Grass by Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985)
from High Windows 1974

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn

White lilac bowed.
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.