A poem for Johnny

6 hours ago by @tunecat

Liner Notes

I met this guy at Vogrie Pogrie who had a little desk thing he was carrying . I asked him about it. He said he was a poet. This was hi ‘gig’ . He went from event to event and write poems in real time for people. The wood thing was indeed a little desk onto which he could set a typewriter ( yes you heard correctly) but it had a usb port .. presumably to char Meg his phone / not sure. I said ‘I’ll write you a poem’ and I did. This is it.
Vogrie Pogrie btw is the most marvellous family festival -not a middle class only ridiculously expensive weekend but a totally permeable community orientated event that if I had been imagining it I wouldn’t have done a thing differently. It’s about inclusivity, validation, embracing creativity and having a go, and a lot of being, and lots of possibility and also larking around and imagination.
It’s set in a wonderful grounds of a country house in the Scottish Borders . Huge trees abound ( they seem to have snuck into this poem taking centre stage -which is only how it should be. ) it’s grand and a resource -open 365 days a year.
This isn’t really a song. I suppose it could be. Maybe before 5090 ends I’ll do a marathon of playing and singing. Most if this summer I’ve been out and about. I was playing melodica and tenor horn last weekend in a clownish manner. It was great!

Lyrics

A poem for Johnny

In the music of the trees we met
You with your little desk..
Wow a poet - that’s a thing I’m drawn to
A bard eh? A wandering wordsmith.

Under the canopy of verdant majesty
We little humans dart about
And also stop to have encounters like this one
(I am intrigued by the usb port. )

It is possible to live life from within the pauses
Each break a chance for giving openings a voice.
We’ll thrive on curiosity and common courtesy
Inquiry, interest, immersion in what is.

Today, tomorrow? Stay in the present
Where the leaves have yet to fall. But will.
We’re protected by the fuggy fogginess
‘Late autumn’ is it?’ The names we give to wordify our every-day

Our hooks to pollinate, exchanges on the fly
We are not static nor indeed are these; these wondrous oaks.
And your passing through not unaffected
By the dappled light, the humour in translucency

And swaying branches seem to say ‘hello’
You’ve seen us. You know. You’ve been.
And in the contours of our arms gesticulating
Recognition.

Comments