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letra de an ode to tony macmahon's den - stephen james smith

i was strolling the streets of the coombe
dublin’s celestial womb
i’d the hunger in my belly
and my legs were goin’ jelly
i was in search of a bite
when by chance on francis street
libby and her little sis ruth i did meet
“what brings you round here?” i say
“ah did you not hear?” they say
come gather round and listen
there’s a rambling session beginning
kerry’s descended upon dublin
in tony mcmahon’s den
when we’re open to chance
we’ll know the way
when we know the way
we’ll dance

so i ambled onwards
towards this rambling session
passing markets for horses and hops
and oh there’s the heroine
auld anne devlin muralled by maser
having strolled these streets herself
in bygone days sure
i wonder what verse vincent caprani
would’ve penned for the oncoming gaiety
then just off the gray street
my comrades i did meet
for this was a party of pipers, poets, paupers
and workers’ party politicians
this wasn’t inniskeen road
but it was a july evening
this wasn’t billy brennan’s barn
but the bicycles were aligning
leaning up against stone walls
where geraniums were hanging
either side of the doorway
where i sat on the wooden floor
a throne for this castaway
when we’re open to chance
we’ll know the way
when we know the way
we’ll dance
steve says, “what’ll we start with?”
not me, another steve, a myth
and we’re off and on
jigs, reels, polkas, tunes, no song
i open my eyes and ears wide
you sense the pride
there’s
gas laughs and by-golly hysteria
gas lamps from bygone eras
cobwebs catching the light
i spy a spider slowly, silkily, descending into an air
built on its own might
there’s dusty bookshelves
and parisian paintings taking us away
there’s writing desks, step-ladders
ironing boards and not a word, just tunes heard
young and old ears
attuned to an ancient pitch
4-32 a tone your grandparents and verdi knew
every key further unlocks this open house
the pendulum on the clocks even stopped
but it’s right twice a day
this is the pure drop
no lips go parched
and some are even puckering up
for the mistletoe still hanging in the kitchen
buddha gazes on, spreading good karma
bulbs blown, don’t dim, thanks jah
i’d a chinwag with ita from cabra
beside the fireplace there’s an aloe vera plant
and i can’t even begin to thank the world for this blessing
there’s a ringing in our ears and bare feet are tapping
while rain lightly taps along in time on the windowpane
no hurt here for now, no pain for now
i abstained from the overwhelming offers of sandwiches
but with a china tea cup
i toast to tommy potts
a fiddler and fireman
aptly over the fireplace and i swig a sup
for those not here for the blas
the fairy music is flowing and i’m all áthas with living
we’re all alive
as the spirits arise to share this sp-ce
the white lady is in the window
and the blue-haired woman is in the corner
as gaels speak the teanga isteach sa teach
agus amach, amach, outside
outside of me
a tear rolls down my face
as sweat pours down cormac’s concertina
he plays within himself
honouring us in this outer realm
a raven bellowing out beautiful airs of blasket boatmen
we are taken there
we are no longer here
in this room
in dublin’s liberties
we are at prayer
at church
just around the corner from vicar street
ascending all the concrete
attune to a new frequency
and frequently we are
out of our hearts
of ourselves
we are liberated
we vibrated to each other
for each movement a ripple
i am in no fixed state
when i say i, i mean we
we can’t stop now
take it all in
and let everything go
we’ll never be able
it won’t end here
here now
without you
we are on the air
a spider slowly, silkily, descending into an air
c’mere you were told
bring a bottle and your ears to the affair
come get there early or you’ll be lucky to get a chair
come gather round and listen
there’s a rambling session beginning
kerry’s descended upon dublin
in tony mcmahon’s den
when we’re open to change
we’ll know the way
when we know the way
we’ll not feel strange
when we’re open to chance
we’ll know the way
when we know the way
we’ll dance

- stephen james smith

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