Boats
Here is the sound of the coast
The muzak of any old sun
The boats grind ashore to be caught by the law
Time to see justice is done
The water laps over the shoulder
The sea flows through ear-holes, through eyes
Let’s tape all this shouting as if it’s an outing
Give the future a lovely surprise
Wish you were with the baggage
The people the baggage conceals
No, do bring the mike over here if you like:
This gargling’s worth several reels
This one washed up on a Sunday
We taped all its efforts at breath
It would still make a noise full of infinite joys
If it hadn’t been drowning to death
Isn’t it like this in Britain?
The language of shorelines, of shores?
Here down in Italy, they sing rather bitterly –
We don’t offer any applause
We’re not handing out any plaudits
They’re here not to give but to take
If you fish through the dunes, they have very few tunes –
What curious soundscapes they make!
Click here for an Independent story
Click here for a Guardian story
