Dorigen 2 Listen to me.

Years ago in Brittany they made up poems,

All rhymed and in Breton.

When friends were gathered like us now,

By the winter fire with snow outside,

Or in the summer shade of a great oak’s leaves,

They sang these poems

Or read them out aloud.

For poems are music and a rush of sounds,

And were never made

To be read in silence.

I can remember one

And will tell it to you now.

So if you have time for a poem,

And so few do today,

Just make yourself comfortable,

And pour yourself a drink.

There’s beer in the fridge,

No, on the bottom shelf.

It’s always on the bottom shelf.

That’s it.

There’s a glass in the cupboard.

You’re happy with the can?  OK then.

One thing more, before I start.

I’m very down to earth, you know.

Forgive the plain style that I use.

I call a spade a spade,

And bread is bread and wine is wine!

I know nothing of poetic terms

Or words refined.

So here we go then.

Listen.