Wednesday, 4 December 2013

McGarrigle's Glasgow.

    Since posting The Clutha And John McGarrigle I have been touched by the number and content of the comments and emails I have received, below is the latest.
    I found your blog today as I was looking up John McGarrigle. I heard about his death first thing this morning - was the first thing on my radio. I'm a poet too and was struck by his death, so looked him up, and discovered that he was also working class like me. I was struck even more, and wanted to write few lines to commemorate him and his poetry (I've included some references to his work).
    I don't know whether his family would like to see it, but from your blog I note that you knew him. If you think it would be a good idea to show them this, please do. I've attached it and put it below too.
Take care
Laura Taylor

McGarrigle’s Glasgow

One of the scribes was taken tonight.
One of the seers, one of our own.
One of the prophets will write no more lines
in radical rhymes
nor preach them to people like us.

He struggled against his emptying days,
though yearned for contentment and calm.
Thought he had lost that angry young man,
but McGarrigle – words never die;
they’re beyond a stillness of pulse.

You spoke of a Glasgow unknown to the rich,
of the Cross, of a town built on sweat.
In the Clutha, the Scotia, the folk and the verse -
dance of the underdog, lies of the land –
were given a life in tune to your truth.

Tonight in a town made of working-class gold,
in the midst of McGarrigle’s Glasgow -
the artists and players, singers and sculptors,
poets and prophets and pipers and drummers
remember the heat of your heart;
raise their glass to the fire within.

May your flame spark gently in unsurpassed sunset tonight.

Laura Taylor.

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