I'm told that when a primate embryo begins to form, the first easily identifiable components are the mouth, the anus and the alimentary canal that runs between them (input, process and output of the magical soft machine). The rest is added functionality.
Of course, mouths are more than inputs - for fresh air, water, food et cetera. They are outputs as well - for stale air, speech and song. I know there is a class of mankind (that's a non-gender-specific use of the term, by the way) that is reputed to talk out of the other end of the alimentary canal - they are called politicians!
Mouths, good for chewing, kissing, chanting and ranting. I'm off to Wigan shortly to celebrate its most famous son, Gerrard Winstanley, leader of the Diggers - whose festival it is today. I'm looking forward to hearing the poet Attila the Stockbroker ranting from the main stage and may even stuff my mouth with one of Wigan's famous pies. Pray the sun keeps shining and come on you Seasiders (who I shall miss, today).
I've actually been busy this week writing a chapter about the fall of the House of Oyston for a book a friend is putting together (you'll have to wait and see), so I've not had time to concoct a new poem. I have an idea for one, Alpha And Omega (based on the alimentary/spouting concepts mentioned above), but it will take time to emerge - so it's nil by mouth from me this week.
However, I was at a poetry night a while back and someone read out the lyrics of Joni Mitchell's song Hejira from her wonderful album of the same name, making the justifiable claim that what Joni wrote was poetry put to music. I couldn't disagree. It gave me the idea that I might share some of the lyrics of one of my favorite bands of the last thirty years with you - Trip Shakespeare, the finest combo that Minneapolis ever spawned. This, because it's on theme, is from their 1991 magnum opus Lulu. Enjoy.
Your Mouth (Is My Apartment In The Evening)
Back down to the work again
It's no place for a living man
I ride around on the ice-cream bicycle
Dreamsicle in my hand
Once over the park again
I sing bombpop'll do you well
I wait for day to be night again
Ringin' that foolish bell
Your mouth is my apartment
In the evening
And I sleep in a ruby dark bed
Back down in the dust again
I see a vision that I cannot stand
Another vendor on a bicycle bender
Lollipops in his hand
Once over the park again
I sing bombpop'll do you well
I wait for day to be night again
Ringin' that foolish bell
Your mouth is my apartment
In the evening
And I sleep in a ruby dark bed
And I work in the flames
(No love shines down)
But if your lips would invite me
(To come around)
I would fly like a starling
From the mountain face
To your world and a resting place
Your mouth is my apartment
In the evening
And I sleep in a ruby dark bed
Your mind is like a spaceship
That the angels might fly
And I ride any place in your head
Any place in your head.
Matt Wilson, 1991
As a bonus, do listen to the wonderful Trip Shakespeare here by clicking on the song title: Your Mouth
Thanks for reading. Rock out for freedom and a second referendum, S ;-) Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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