Where the Halling Valley River Lies, Carl Halling [urban books to read txt] 📗

its wake
Run to the one you love tonight
Say something tender
Find it in your heart
Don’t wait too long

Two lovers kissed on a summer morn
And a lifetime love was born
A love that makes a man a king
And a maid’s heart start to sing

It wasn’t so long ago
A new time may have grown
And so many tears have flown
But it wasn’t so long ago

2. (Your Beautiful) Lethal Life

Shooting star
With a quicksilver mind
You deserve to go so far
Can’t someone stop you
Before you ruin your soul
With irreversible harm?

Drinking all day
Every single day
Out of your head on booze
Is this the life
Is this the way
A gifted child should choose?

Your beautiful lethal life
My friend
Has sent you around the bend
Your foolish defiant
Dionysian dance
Could soon be at an end

But you don’t care
Do you shooting star
As you drift in your blissful dream

3. Thoughts of a Forlorn Flâneur

Early days as a flâneur
I recall the couple
On the Métro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities
Slim pretty white girl
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce-que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me…
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I

Being screamed at in Pigalle
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who’d just seen Dillon as
Rusty James
And was walking around in a daze
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette

Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush
Portrait sketched at the Place de Tertre
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Delève
And a blouson noir from
The Marché de Puces
At the Porte de Clignancourt

Métro taken to Montparnasse
Where I slowly sipped
A demi-blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai
Bewhiskered loup de mer
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious
"Voilà, mon Capitaine!"

I cut into the Rue de Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement
Before steering for the
Place de Châtelet,
And onwards...les Halles!

4. Wicked Cahoots

When he made
his first personal appearance
in the dirty alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad
or that my mum liked him
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our "adventures" were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.

5. The Woodville Hall Soul Boys

Soon after I'd paid
My sixty
0r seventy pence,
I found myself
In what I thought
Was a miniature London.
I saw girls
In chandelier earrings,
In stiletto heels,
Wearing evening
Dresses,
Which contrasted with
The bizarre
Hair colours
They favoured:
Jet black
0r bleach blonde,
With flashes of
Red, Purple
0r green.
Some wore large
Bow ties,
Others unceremoniously
Hanged
Their school ties
Round their
Necks.
Eye make-up
Was exaggerated.
The boys all had
Short hair,
Wore mohair sweaters,
Thin ties,
Baggy,
Peg-top trousers
And winklepicker shoes.
A band playing
Raw street rock
At a frantic speed
Came to a sudden,
Violent climax...
Melodic, rhythmic,
Highly danceable
Soul music
Was now beginning
To fill the hall,
With another group
0f short-haired youths...
Smoother, more elegant,
Less menacing
Than the previous ones.
These well-dressed
Street boys
Wore well-pressed pegs
0f red or blue...
They pirouetted
And posed...
Pirouetted and posed.

6. Spark of Youth Long Gone

Two days ago, I decided
To realise
Some cherished memories
Of my beloved little pueblo;
So I drank about five glasses
Of Monteviejo
In preparation for
The rediscovery of
The town of my heart.
Firstly, I sat in the bar
Where I used to meet
All my friends,
And was assaulted
By the prices of the drinks
And the volume of the music.
I searched the place
With my eyes
For the innocence and laughter
Of yesteryear, but in vain…
The young people are forced
Into tight little groups
So atmosphere
Is ponderous and alienating.
Where is the fun?
The wild and foolish socialising?
The comic local music?
All gone. I could cry.
Oh, these nerves, this living death.
I am so full of fear,
Lethargy and fury
I can hardly function.
There’s a lack of innocence
Of simplicity
And is this change
From deep within me?
The freedom,
The spark of youth
Is gone
Or have I merely lost it?
Sophistication spoils
The city ravages
Senses refined
By knowledge and wine.

7. Some Perverse Will

I’m a restless man
I am never
Still
I’m always spurred on
By some perverse
Will
The grass is never
Green
No peace here
To find
Some demon
Of motion’s
At work within my
Mind
No bed is too soft
That I won’t
Abandon
It’s sweet calm
And comfort
For a softer
One
I’m a restless man
I am never
Still
I’m always spurred on
By some perverse will.

8. London as the Lieu

Until recently, I had the impression
Of decaying
Along with the moral standards
Of contemporary Europe
With London as the lieu
To which all autoroutes lead.

In my room, I was surrounded
By debris
Of my existence,
Lacking the will even to clear
The carpet, whose colour,
Incidentally I came to forget.

I ceaselessly tampered with my hair,
Growing it long,
Having it cropped , hennaing it red,
Dyeing it blue-black, bleaching it near-white;
It fell out in bunches,
Dessicated and exhausted.

My face grew sallow and haggard,
With bloodshot, inflamed,
Glazed, blue-ringed orbs
And bitten, bloated, ravaged lips.
My body lost its athletic aspect
And became shapeless and emaciated.

9. Lone Birthday Boy Dancing

Yesterday for my birthday,
I started off
with a bottle of wine...
I took the train
into town...
I had half a bitter
at the Cafe de Piaf
in Waterloo...
I went to work
for a couple of hours or so;
I had a pint after work;
I went for an audition;
after the audition,
I had another pint
and a half;
I had another half,
before meeting my mates,
for my b'day celebrations;
we had a pint together;
we went into
the night club,
where we had champagne
(I had three glasses);
I had a further
glass of vino,
by which time,
I was so gone
that I drew an audience
of about thirty
by performing a solo
dancing spot
in the middle
of the disco floor...
We all piled off to the pub
after that,
where I had another drink
(I can't remember
what it was)...
I then made my way home,
took the bus from Surbiton,
but ended up
in the wilds of Surrey;
I took another bus home,
and watched some telly
and had something to eat
before crashing out...
I really, really enjoyed
the eve, but today,
I've been walking around
I've had only one drink today,
an early morning
restorative effort;
I spent the day working,
then I went to a bookshop,
where, like a monk,
I go for a day's
drying out session...
Drying out is really awful;
you jump at every shadow;
you feel dizzy,
you notice everything;
very often,
I don't follow through…

10. All Through the Ages

All through the ages
I have faithfully waited
Now I'm ready
For you
To make this dream come true
All through the ages
I have faithfully prayed
You'd come and rescue me
You've been
So far away
All through the ages
I have faithfully kept
Myself so pure for you
Except a crush or two...
All through the ages
I have faithfully waited
Now I'm ready
For you
To make this dream come true.

11. Time Travel

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

In disguise as a young man
In the city
But the bright young lights
No longer belong to me
I’m not a London man
I’m just a carbon copy
Doing some travelling

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

Seeing faces that I knew in ‘77
When I was young
And in love with London town
But please don’t ask me
Where those thirty years
Have flown to
They’ve just gone travelling.

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

Lady, though your sweetness
Is such a blessing
Tender angel
Please don’t lose your heart to me
For I’m a visitor
From a distant generation
Doing some travelling

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

12. Toilers of the Sea

Come away with me
To toil upon the sea
Come away and see
How sweet sea life can be
I’ll sing “Bonny Dundee”
Off the coast of Old Guernsey
You and me,
Are toilers of the sea, toilers of the sea.

Help me put that wrecked
Romance away from me
Help me understand
How it was lost at sea
It wasn’t destined to be
She belonged to another not me
So I let them be
Whatever will be will be
For the salty old likes of me
For toilers of the sea, for toilers of the sea.

I can stand it if you’re
There with me
For the solitary life at sea
Is enough to make you sea crazy
With the whales and gulls for company

We can ponder on
The ocean’s mysteries
I’ll unveil a few of
My old sea stories
You’ll see how kind a tar can be
I promise you’ll be safe with me
When we’re out at sea
As toilers of the sea, as toilers of the sea.

13. A Song of Summer

Faith, where’s your smile
Don’t be a melancholy child
Can’t you see
That the summer’s come?

Stuck in your room
With your winter curtains drawn
While the suburbs
Are all bathed in sun

No more winter time lows
Only joy now because
We