But I never made the first team
I just made the first team laugh
Billy Bragg, ‘The Saturday Boy’
A lovely radio producer, whom I shall call Julian, emailed me to ask if I would like to talk on the BBC programme Soul Music, about Nick Drake’s most beautiful song ‘Northern Sky’. To which the correct and only answer was, When can I start? He found me, he said, via a blog post I had posted eighteen years ago, during my early days of remission from cancer, one of my very first forays into this space of finding things to say about the intersection of life and poetry.
Thank you so much for contacting me, I wrote back to him, pinching myself that the mighty BBC should want to hear my views on, well, anything. We arranged to meet via Teams. It was in the bag. I thought, I shall tell him the story of how I first encountered the song when I had moved out of home, quickly followed by meeting and falling in love with the person who is now my wife. Of how the song creates an emotional weather system that is simultaneously the promise of a spring shower and the dying light of autumn. Of how it is built of phrases that have a psalm-like purity (‘sweet breezes in the top of a tree’) which embolden you as you carry them into your day. Of how its magnetism is really about the interplay between the irreducible confidence of being seen for the first time (‘I never felt magic crazy as this/ I never saw moons, knew the meaning of the sea’) and the haunted self-knowledge of having no self at all: ‘Been a long time that I’m blown/ I’ve been a long time that I’ve wandered/ Through the people I have known.’
I said none of this, of course. I stumbled an outline of my story, about moving away from home and falling in love, but to most of Julian’s kind and patient questions I remained tongue-tied. And then I said that he should really be speaking to Laura Barton, whose marvellous piece on the song was the inspiration for my blog post in the first place. Yes, he said, he would definitely be speaking to Laura. And then I went into a long riff about how Hail, Hail, Rock’n’Roll, the series of short pieces that Laura Barton was writing at the time for the Guardian, were the inspiration, several years and many failed blog posts later, for my Lifesaving Poems series of blog posts. So in a way, I said, I owe Nick Drake a lot. Tell me about listening to him after your cancer, Julian said.
You know by now that I did not make it into the programme. And I am glad I didn’t, I really am. It is an exquisite piece of radio, no commentary or intrusive questioning, just the voices of the participants, their stories interweaving yet somehow enlarging and expanding each other though originating from completely different places, from call centre work during the pandemic to freshers’ parties at the University of Cambridge via a lovely, wry piece from Drake’s producer, Joe Boyd. I’m not sure I ever believed I would get on, like the time I got picked for the firsts cricket team and it rained.
Lifesaving Poems 
Fascinatingh, I also received an out of the blue email from the BBC “Soul Music” producer. My connection was the song “Besame Mucho.” The interview brought back many poignant memories of beautiful times with my wife. I was quite surprised by the request and quite emotional sharing our story. yes, music can be a powerful soul stirring medium.
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Hi Tio! How lovely to hear from you. I must check out that episode, as I don’t know that number. I heard a line by the late Oliver Sacks the other day to the effect that the most powerful therapies he ever used were gardens and music. Late in life, I am beginning to see his point. With power and love to you as always, Anthony.
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Gardens and music certainly work for me. I wish you all the best!
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But out of the experience you have a great story to tell!
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Thank you so much for saying so, Dawn. As somebody said, it is all material. And I am pleased you saw this. Anthony.
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I’m so glad the radio programme made it into your blog.
This is altogether lovely, and vividly reminds me how brilliant you are on Nick Drake.
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Hi Nell. It is joy to hear from you. I once wanted to be a drummer, then a singer, and having failed at both, a music writer. Maybe I am slowly becoming one. I would like to be, one day. Bless you as ever, A x
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It rained!…oh, the englishness and the life-ness of that!
I am so glad to hear your exquisite Nick Drake narrative which cannot be rained off, praise be.
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Bless you for saying so, Rebecca. Englishness, rain and failure: my strong suits. I appreciate you being here enormously. xx
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Love your writing, Anthony. Thank you for your reflections.
Twice I’ve been invited to give a TEDx talk, each in a different country. Honored, delighted to be asked. Prepared, fretted. Fretted some more. Twice the event got canceled due to issues beyond the control of the organizers. They sent regrets to all of us speakers. Each time, I felt such relief!
Did you feel that, too?
Joanna
Joanna Free
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Thank you for your kind comment, Joanna. I think I was relieved, yes, especially when I started listening to the finished programme, and everyone was so articulate. Good wishes to you and your TEDx career! Anthony
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Thanks so much, Anthony, though no interest in that anymore; it seems to have passed! Noticing, especially in the wake of these opportunities, that I still much prefer listening to speaking.
Joanna
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Hello Joanna. Thank you for commenting. I like the idea of the interest in SM passing. And noticing. I think that is key to being present in any situation. I can’t notice if I’m preoccupied with likes. With thanks again, Anthony
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I honestly cannot convey how much I love this story. This is life, this is poetry, this is real. Thank you for it.
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