There is a darkness
Where waves sleep out the winter
And out of which the mists of time
Slyly slip unnoticed
To hang moist upon the still, grey sea.
Such a place is where the living fear to go
Even with a lifetime of songs inside their hearts,
Even with willing hands and pipes to play them on.
Only two hands. More's the pity.
You put one hand upon the bow,
Ran your fingers
Soft across the chanter's wood;
Whistled up a reel or jig
And bound it tight in its tracks;
Or poured it, echoing,
Like a loud and constant sea,
Deep into gullies and unmade channels
Where the skeleton caves are shaped
In the hollow places of the earth.
That was when you folded the feileadh beag round you.
Into darkness into light.
Promise is written black upon white;
Or white upon black.
The gift is given and wrought
Where once it might have lain buried
Under the mundane burden of usefulness.
Brave new music: ancient roots bearing this season's fruit.
The Cave of Gold runs far away under land,
Slants downward to the world's core,
Through every faerie kingdom
And every catacomb of myth or truth.
In its darkness gleams what may be gold,
Or the eyes of demons smirking beyond sight.
And we enter it, some for gain,
Some for glory.
And some to face those devilish eyes
And come whole to what is true beyond all doubt.
It's a pity I didn't have three hands,
two for the pipes and one for the sword.
Cave of Gold, Cave of Gold
Into a darkness:
Where the waves slept out the winter
And out of which the mist of time
Once slipped unnoticed
To hang moist upon the still, grey sea.
© BH 2005
Having watched the Celtic Connections performance of Martyn Bennett's GRIT. The album was an inspiration and Greg Lawson's orchestration of it no less. Martyn was a sad loss to music, not just Scottish music. When I bought Grit I'd heard he was ill but I always thought he'd beat it. But no.
I wrote this poem in 2005 just after he died. Later, I made it into a short film for a Gaelic film competition. The Gaelic version, text and video, follows below if your'e interested. The music is Uamh An Oir, a song performed by Martyn's mother, Margaret and taken from the album he made with her, Glen Lyon. Apparently he recorded some of it in the dungeons of Linlithgow Palace. The acoustics were so good.
It's another homage. I suppose and like Greg Lawson said in the Scotsman, it's about taking the work of a master and moving it on a step. Better that than dumb admiration from afar. Mind you, what Greg did is way better - actually letting people play it. Fantastic.
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This poem (in both English and Gaelic) was finally published in Glasgow City of Music by Seahorse Publications in 2024.
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