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the old poet - basciville & cursed murphy lyrics

me and the old poet were good for fifteen years
he was a sort of mentor i suppose
told us stories about the nineteen sixties crowd
so*called “poets on the [?] and grogan’s and the palace bar and the catacombs
after our sessions where so*called poets hung themselves
and other so*called poets cut the body down and returned to their drinking
scenarios where so*called poets passed a revolver, pushed a round into a chamber and spun
pressed the nose of the gun in the backs of their hands and squeezed the trigger
singing “whiskey cannot k!ll my pain”
the pain of poverty
of unrequited love
of books squandered in drink
the pain of things that happened before they were old enough to speak
the pain of age, and rage, and sweating it in the clink
long story short, the old poet sobered up
wrung himself out like a dish cloth and wrote more books
“his best stuff” the critics said
then at the age of sixty lightning detonated in his chest and he collapsed in the arms of surgeons who cracked him open with chainsaws
inserted valves and stints
medieval stuff
but he made it back to earth
and when my father died he manned the bulwarks
called me son, stuffed brown envelopes in my pocket when things got tight
quoted his old pal patrick kavanagh who said “there is no angst that can’t be fixed by a fist full of fivers”
and stood as lunch and asked if i thought maybe joyce was taking the p*ss with that last part of “the dead”
gabriel’s generous tears and so forth
but when i refused that last brown envelope and quit his daughter and dublin, that was us, done
the terms of engagement redefined into separation agreements
laughing at david’s back, david’s divorced, degree, sollicitor’s fees
though once or twice we stopped on dawson street or wicklow street and made awkward talk
furtive like, afraid we’d be caught
like two school boys on the hop
and ever after that, whenever i spotted the old poet around town he looked kind of dazed and lost, shuffling through the city like a man with a stone in his shoe
so familiar with the discomfort he never thought to take it out

- basciville cursed murphy lyrics

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