I am lucky that John is on the staff at Manchester. I discovered his poetry this way. He has a lovely lyrical voice with sharp edges. The wind sails leaves around the house like late notices for the garden's deterioration. Turn a blind eye. RTE longwave announces gigs in familiar venues, I like the presenter's comfortable thoughts of tonight and the day after, until, that is, he introduces The Holy Land by the Bothy Band then veers into advertising a poetry broadsheet and a silver plate, before attacking quote the crimson tides and purple mountains end quote someone (who?) might waste their money on instead in Woolworth's. There's a snatch of a shipping forecast and I'm unloading the dishwasher when I hear a new voice, which strands me by announcing, 'This is The Archive Hour. And that was The Long Note 30 years ago today' out of earshot as I am of the autumn sun and rain which the radio forecast, too, on this hour that's gone south with its silver plate, its piano and bodhran, where, in Woolworth's, a crimson tide progresses beneath a purple mountain and someone hums a reel: he knows the start of it but puts a question mark against the title: it's 'The Holy Ground' but he doesn't join the dots. He has places to go. There will be time again for names and dates, for taking it all down, for credits, for footnotes.