Cohen comes to Lissadell: a living poet comes to a dead poet's corner.

IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE-BOOTH AND CON MARKIEWICZ

The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not what the younger dreams -
Some vague Utopia - and she seems,
When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,
An image of such politics.
Many a time I think to seek
One or the other out and speak
Of that old Georgian mansion, mix
Pictures of the mind, recall
That table and the talk of youth,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.

Dear shadows, now you know it all,
All the folly of a fight
With a common wrong or right.
The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time;
Arise and bid me strike a match
And strike another till time catch;
Should the conflagration climb,
Run till all the sages know.
We the great gazebo built,
They convicted us of guilt;
Bid me strike a match and blow.

Alex and me bade adieu to the Piccadilly Line and the house project and repaired to the Village for a few weeks. The first event to attend to on arrival was the Leonard Cohen concert in Lissadell. BF and I had a long discussion about travel and parking arrangements. Lissadell has never been used as a concert venue before and practical advice is scant. To drive to the venue direct and hope for the best regarding parking or to hop on one of busses leaving from various points. I favour taking a chance on parking at the venue while BF leaned towards the bus option. In the end we both ended parking at the venue.

It promised to be a special event. The setting was awesome, to be sure. The stage was set against a canopy of hazel wood (I went down to the hazel wood and hooked a berry to a thread) and through the trees the odd boat passing by on Sligo Bay could be seen. To the left of the stage is Sligo’s own Table Mountain, Benbulben, at whose foot, Yeats is buried in the graveyard of the church at Drumcliff.

The man I heard on the radio summed up Leonard Cohen far better than I ever could when he said that his lyrics contain much meaning which resonates with life’s cards of love, longing, loss and lust. BF and I along with her daughter had seen Leonard in Dublin last year and it was the most spiritual event that I had not anticipated. We had not been prepared to cry as we did. Leonard Cohen arrested us on that occasion and made us stop and reflect on our lives through his words. His delivery and respect for his musicians and for us was so evident. It was moving beyond belief. It was also fun. He delivered comments gently and with a wryness born from a life fully lived. And a life fully lived, contains loss. Alex and some friends who came with BF were as moved as we had been in Dublin 2009 but BF & I did agree that, Cohen in Lissadell, while thoroughly enjoyable, did lack the intense intimacy of the performance in Dublin 2009.

Kitchens & Bathrooms

We made great progress this weekend. We have sorted the kitchen, worktop, door handles, appliances, bath, bathroom pottery, taps, flooring upastairs and flooring downstairs for the new house. So a lot was done. We also fitted in the annual International Evening at Alex's school which had good music, food and everyone in good humour. We met a newly elected councillor there who looked all of 16 mind you, and her knowledge about a local issue I raised with her was very impressive. It's great to see younger people being informed and engaging with politics. So there's hope yet. We even managed a picnic by Kenwood House in Hampstead Heath. Rufus Wainwright was performing in the Summer Season. Perfect evening - great to see my old friend Brid. And we bagged a parking space right by the gate. Could life be more perfect?

So when Alex said you won't forget to ring the builder and tell him what we want before she left this morning, I was gripped by mild panic. What we want, I asked, through my waking up. Yes she said - the kitchen, the cabinets, the worktop, the bath, the basin .... the taps. Taps, I shrieked. Oh mother of god. The house move will be in just under two weeks and we are moving in to a project. It has to be rewired, central heating installed, new kitchen, new bathroom, walls stripped of wall paper and painted and ceilings, carpets lifted and new flooring installed. And I can't remember a damn thing, fittings wise, we agreed upon.

PS. Blue is fully recovered - she really enjoyed her trip to Hampstead Heath on Saturday and was enraptured with Rufus

That was the weekend that was ....,

My commute this morning was longer than usual. From BF's house in the West of Ireland to my office near the Piccadilly Line in four hours flat. That's great said BF on skype later asking me did I see her camera. But is it? I had my enthusiastic colleagues getting excited about what we are doing and while normally, I am in the thick of it, today, I was kinda quiet. I guess I needed a bit more space between tranquility and action. We all need time to digest and reflect.

BF and I attended an art launch exhibition - a brave venture in a recession as the local politician who opened it intoned. An ecletic range of art with a packed gallery to view it. An amazing number of people I met there are natives of districts located near the Piccadilly Line and they moved the other way. Am I missing something? The artists were Breda Burns, Margaret Duffy, Betty Gannon, Pamela Gray, Mary O'Grady, Grainne O'Reilly, Susie Quinn, Sinead Wall and Ian Wieczorek. I particularly liked Breda, Margaret and Susie but resisted buying as the thought of flooring and light fittings took over.

So we stopped off in McGing's Pub on the way back and caught a bit of a session. I enjoyed the pint of Guinness and me and BF reviewed the weekend. We had ticked a lot of boxes - delicious dressed crab, a long walk, a Guinness, art, coffee, talk and relax. So I am back on the Piccadilly Line and will be back to normal tomorrow.

Off the Piccadilly Line for Easter

Alex dreamt last night that she bought a table. Did I like it I asked. The dream did not get that far. It was a cigar table made of oak and it was extendible. It was only £150. The last phew days have been a whirl but our offer was accepted on a house which we only saw by chance on Thursday at 2.00pm. By a quarter past 4 we had seen it for a second time with Blue, offered the asking price and had the offer accepted. Hurrah.

In the local we bumped into Gavin from Northumberland. Did you try the omlette yet he asked. No, Alex apologised. Gavin said he missed out on one vital ingredient - orange pepper. Alex made a mental note. I asked him if he played the guitar. I am razor sharp you see. His finger nails on the right hand were a shade too long for a bloke because Gavin is a blokey kinda bloke. You could easily picture him, Denis Hopper and Jack Nichoson riding easy across the good old US of A. So, after the finger nails we got talking music. Gavin's getting a band together. It's brilliant music he said. Gavin was full of praise for himself. What genre is his music I asked? Gavin said I would have to listen and decide the genre for myself. But the nearest he could come to would be blues / rock, maybe. Gavin's band is not a pub band. His is more a Wembley Arena, O2 Arena sort of outfit. He's short a few personnel for the band. He needs a second female vocalist and a rhythm guitarist. For the last rehearsal his 65 year old guitarist travelled down from Newcastle. But Gavin needs to lower the age profile of the band.

So he gave me his CD. The cover was a lined page from an exercise book with the seven tracks listed out. The titles were dark - Storm Clouds, Black as Hell, Hillman Avenger Blues - clearly, an album with an edge. Gavin did everything on the album. He wrote the songs, imagined and realised the soundscapes, played all the instuments (apart from the drums) and did the vocals. The unheard album sat tantalisingly on the table, in the soft plastic CD cover with its handwritten tracks, as we listened to Gavin explaining the oeuvre.

I had had enough. I needed to end the pain. I slipped the album off the table and went back to the cottage and put it on in the kitchen and left the door open. Our garden abuts the local's garden so I knew it would be heard there. By the time I got back Gavin was in shock. He just loved listening to it. And it was great to have him there, illuminating amd annotating for us. And, dear reader, I have to tell you. This album exceeded all expectations. Gavin was right. This is no pub band. His sound demands an arena worthy of it. Some of his tracks evoked the sound of the live Leonard Cohen while others reminded one of The Boss. Rock on Gavin. I only wish Jim could fix it for you.