An Ode to Tony MacMahon's Den

I was strolling the streets of The Coombe,
Dublin’s celestial womb.
I’d a hunger in me belly,
And me legs were goin’ jelly.
I was in search of a bite,
When by chance on Francis Street,
Libby and her little sis Ruth I did meet.
“What brings you round here?” I say.
“Ah, did you not hear?" they say.

Come gather round and listen,
There’s a Rambling Session beginning.
Kerry’s descended upon Dublin,
In Tony McMahon’s den...

When we’re open up to chance,
We’ll know the way.
When we know the way,
We’ll dance...

So, I ambled onwards,
Towards this Rambling Session,
Passing markets for horses, hops,
And oh, there’s the heroine.

Auld Anne Devlin,
Muraled by Maser,
Having strolled these streets herself
In bygone days, sure.

I wonder what verse Vincent Caprani
Would’ve pen for the oncoming gaiety.

Then, just off Gray Street,
My comrades I did greet,
For this was a party of:
Pipers, poets, paupers,
And Worker Party politicians.

This wasn’t Inniskeen Road,
But it was a July Evening.
This wasn’t Billy Brennan’s Barn,
But the bicycles were aligning,

Leaning up against stone walls
Where geraniums were hanging,
Either side of the doorway,
Where I sat on the wooden floor,
A throne for this castaway.

When we open up to chance,
We’ll know the way.
When we know the way,
We’ll dance...

Steve says, "What'll we start with?"
Not me, another Steve, a myth.
And we’re off..
And on!
Jigs, reels, polkas, tunes,
No song.

I open
My eyes and ears wide.
You sense the pride!
There’s:
Gas laughs and by-golly hysteria,
Gas lamps from bygone eras,
Cobwebs catching the light,
I spy a spider slowly, silkily, descending into an air
Built on its own might.

There’s:
Dusty bookshelves and Parisian paintings, taking us away...
There’s:
Writing desks, step-ladders,
Ironing boards and not a word, just the tunes heard.
Young and old ears,
Attuned to an ancient pitch,
432 Hz, a tone your grandparents and Verdi knew.

Every key further unlocks this open house,
The pendulum on the clocks even stopped,
But it’s right twice a day.
This is The Pure Drop,
No lips go parched,
And some are even puckering up
For the mistletoe still hanging in the kitchen!

Buddha gazes on, spreading good karma,
Bulbs blown don’t dim, thanks Jah,
I’d a chinwag with Ita from Cabra.
Beside the fireplace, there’s an Aloe vera plant,
And I can’t even begin to thank the world for this blessing.

There’s a ringing in our ears, and bare feet are tapping,
While rain lightly taps along in time on the windowpane.
No hurt here for now, no pain for now...
I abstained from the overwhelming offers of sandwiches,
but with a china tea cup,
I toast to Tommy Potts, a fiddler and fireman,
Aptly over the fireplace, and I swig a sup,
For those not here for the blás.

The fairy music is flowing, and I'm all áthas with living,
We’re all alive,
As the spirits arise, to share this space.
The White Lady is in the window,
And the blue-haired woman is in the corner.

As Gaels speak the teanga isteach sa teach,
Agus amach, amach, outside, outside,
Outside of me...
A tear rolls down my face,
As sweat pours down Cormac’s concertina,
He plays within himself,
Honouring us, in this outer realm.

A raven bellowing out beautiful airs of Blasket boatmen,
We are taken there,
We are no longer here,
In this room,
In Dublin’s Liberties,
We are at prayer
At church,
Just around the corner from Vicar Street,
Ascending all the concrete,
Attuned to a new frequency,
And frequently we are
Out of our hearts,
Out of ourselves,
We are liberated,
And we vibrated to each other.
Each movement a ripple.
And I am in no fixed state,
When I say I,
I mean we.
We can’t stop now.
Take it all in,
Let everything go.
We’ll never be able.
It won’t end here,
Here now,
Without you.
We are on the air.
A spider slowly, silkily, descending into an air,
Casting on invisible waves...

C’mere, you were told,
Bring a bottle and your ears to the affair,
Get there early, or you’ll be lucky to get a chair!

Come gather round and listen,
There’s a Rambling Session beginning.
Kerry’s descended upon Dublin
In Tony McMahon’s den...

When we open up to change,
We’ll know the way.
When we know the way,
We’ll not feel strange...

When we open up to chance,
We’ll know the way.
When we know the way,
We’ll dance...