April 28, 2016 by Sez
This is a guy I saw and heard perform tonight.
In a West Yorkshire pub,
Far away from the place he was born
He tells us the names of the trees
In the Amazon basin. We listen
And though we are laughing,
We try to repeat. We invoke.
As he sings and he’s playing music that grew
In the fields behind coffee plantations
The soundtrack to graceful resistance
And far far away, I believe
There’s a poet from Leeds in Brazil.
Trying to look for his voice in the hills
But he watches the great giants fall
And he thinks of the trees that he knew
Growing up, in the parks and the fields
And the locals repeat the strange words
Though it seems like a joke
With the giants all falling around them: