Clanyard
Three Scotsmen and a Pole’s son
came out of Clanyard,
in shirt sleeves on a silver skimmer.
They pulled strings of herring,
twisting and flashing, into the air,
and shook them free 'til the boat was filled.
The sun slid red, down over Ulster.
Voices danced through the dusk.
On the skin of the tide
above teeming shoals
an armada from Logan -
one driven by a bicycle wheel –
jerked stragglers out with silver hooks.
The blood of herring mingled
with the blood of men.
The flat sea funnelled them south
under Crammag’s white eye.
The shadow rose.
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poem by Jim Hogg
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When The Sky
When the sky turns dusky red
Only one star bright enough
You come to me, now and then
Out of something rising up
All that’s left of history
Black and whites of dreams that once
Couldn’t wait for Saturday
Couldn’t be without your hand
No such thing as shades of grey
You and I knew where to stand
From the launchpad we were bound
Pretty swiftly into sand
Having crashed we turned around
Got back on our feet again
Caught the next dream into town
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poem by Jim Hogg
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The Streets of Glenluce
It was long ago, on Main street
On a night just like tonight
Except everything seemed sweeter
And the night stretched far and wide
I hear echoes on the wind now
Blowing down towards the river
Of voices coming from Moat-hill
Of voices gone forever
(chorus)
And you, you left so long ago
Carried off on life's great stream
It's too late now to let you know
Too late to mention that old dream
And you always were a stranger
Though we always seemed so close
You and I were never famed for
Anything but letting go
All the shy kids wait for saviours
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poem by Jim Hogg
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Song - The Church Hall in Drummore
She’s sitting down beside the wall
When the music starts to play
I’m walking slowly ‘cross the hall
And I'm lost for words to say
I know her name and nothing more
But there’s something in her eyes
We’re in the village of Drummore
In the Church Hall side by side
Some kind of spell falls over us
It's the nineteen seventies
We’re oh so young and lost for love
And we gently start to kiss
Her lips are soft; she holds me tight
And we’re seized by tenderness
But something took me off that night
From her sweet and tender lips
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poem by Jim Hogg
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Cave in a Crumbling Cliff
Plash and boom of waves in cave
A door padlocked in vain
Steps lead down or up
And pebbles crunch
Under waves, under seaboots
And old dreams
You would live there
If your corpse didn't drag you off
The hearth and love
Pull and pull against
Oars along the heaving edge
Into an age when miners camped down there
Safe in huts like shepherds on the cold high moor
Or lobsters in crevices
beyond the broken wave
beyond the need to be
anything but yourself
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poem by Jim Hogg
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Song - Drummore
Deep in my heart lie mem’ries so sweet
Sunshine o’er Cail’ness, sea at my feet
Wind in the barley drove golden waves
Carry me free to Drummore once again
Down on the Creechan the Isles of Marie
Rose on the ebb like friends from the sea
Round by the foghorn where fulmars glide
Fishermen dangled their dreams in the tide
Only a dream now, Mary has flown
Reckless we plough, and reap what we’ve sown
Time runs so swiftly, soon we grow old
Carry me home to Drummore by the shore
Still there’s a world there, where Fingals thrive
Where even strangers feel they’re alive
Down at East Tarbet, high on the cliffs
Carry me back to the thrill of her kiss
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poem by Jim Hogg
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Leaving Langside
Waves are dancing in the harbour,
spray is cool against my face;
life has worn away the armour
that once kept your mem’ry chained.
Cross the channel lights are flashing
through the night for sailors’ eyes;
seems I’ve sailed too many miles now
waiting for the sun to rise
We last met down here in sunlight
in the Mount Stewart public bar.
You were standing by the window
and the sun was o’er Belfast.
We’d lost love we thought was lasting
but could only say hello;
so we’d reached the final parting.
I knew as I watched you go.
Like some creature of the seasons,
these gales drive me here for you.
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poem by Jim Hogg
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Still You
There's a stream through a glen
Where wild apples grow
It runs down to old cliffs
Where foxes and deer
Watch the wild waters foam
White upon winter shores
And I know it's still you
In the waves on the shore
In the stream through the glen
Still you in the moonlight
Where apple blossom glows
And sweet breezes still blow
On the braes by that stream
In cool morning dew
There's a world fresh and free
and still time to dream
of the old and the new
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poem by Jim Hogg
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By Logan Mill
I remember lending you
one of those old 33s
My Imagine, by John Lennon
at The Toll beneath the trees
In a long unfolded world that was
the springtime of our lives
When nothing seemed to matter
more than having a good time
But lately I was minded
to remind you of how long
I've been without the means
to get listening to my songs -
It's more than thirty years,
and that's much too long to wait -
To see you laughing freely
once again for old time's sake
If you only could have stayed dear,
if you only had the chance
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poem by Jim Hogg
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Gifted Puppet
I can see them now: invisible wires
running directly into the minds of your dogs.
You’d beat the drums until you found
their frequency of fear and fixed them to it.
Or shot them if deafness kept them free.
That wasn’t fine by me, but I didn’t
have the air for barking sympathetic pleas.
The fine cabling firmly fixed in place
your animals needed no leashes to speak of;
so keen did they seem to do your bidding
out on the moors, like distant extensions
of you and your intentions, obediently running
circles round dogs deprived of the protection
of your approval and throttling inhibition -
piano wire bound to some old darkness.
“Highly strung” was always a puzzling phrase
to a boy harnessed by thought strangling steel.
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poem by Jim Hogg
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