Sunday, 25 September 2011



Therefore he no more troubled the pool of silence
But put on mask and cloak,
Strung a guitar
And moved among the folk.
Dancing they cried,
'Ah, how our sober islands
Are gay again, since this blind lyrical tramp
Invaded the Fair.'

Under the last dead lamp
When all the dancers and masks had gone inside
His cold stare
Returned to its true task, the interrogation of silence.

George Mackay Brown

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Yo Gerry,

Do YOU feel like the Poet at times? I do! But now I like the silence! For far too long the noise was debilitating. It didn't help me. A few well thought out words are far better than a long winded sermon. I love looking at songs & seeing other variations to them.

Keep up the Good work!