From disco to disappearance.
Archeologies by David Swarbrick
Claim This Podcastby David Swarbrick @ The Ceylon Press
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From disco to disappearance.
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🇺🇲
Publishing Since
7/3/2025
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Recent Episodes
May 7, 2026
Greater Still: 1979 - 1993
<p>1. </p><p>NOT HERE </p><p> </p><p>Still dark, </p><p>thin curtains resist </p><p>a taut March sky; </p><p> </p><p>my room is uncompleted – unoccupied; </p><p>my possessions shrink beside books, clothes, </p><p>stuff left here by others – </p><p> </p><p>and because you are not near - </p><p> </p><p>not in this village or the next – </p><p>not in this thin doctored place</p><p>so far from the southern Weald – </p><p> </p><p>because we are not here –</p><p>my body moves, a blind man, </p><p>proving the place,</p><p>calculating distances </p><p>between here and there –</p><p> </p><p>a bleak, discordant siren </p><p>enticing me to stay,</p><p> </p><p>with a nonsense song: </p><p>that there is no other way.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>BEDFORDSHIRE, MARCH 1979</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>2. </p><p>EDGE</p><p> </p><p>Ploughed fields</p><p>force me to the edge –</p><p>a destitute land, barren and friendless –</p><p>hedgerows of briar and blackthorn </p><p>stiff as razor palisades,</p><p> </p><p>a slammer</p><p>of bare trees, flooded ruts thick, </p><p>greasy, drowning mud</p><p>and a thin, slashing horsewhip wind </p><p>to keep at bay my breakout.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>BEDFORDSHIRE, MARCH 1979</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>3. </p><p>CEEDED</p><p> </p><p>i</p><p>Light haemorrhages,</p><p>bleeds through brooding trees, though copse. </p><p>We await the storm.</p><p> </p><p>ii</p><p>Sound of the quiet moor – </p><p>small hours of dark certainties, </p><p>sleepless, terminal.</p><p> </p><p>iii</p><p>This, the toughest place,</p><p>a night long anvil smashing </p><p>every dream that comes.</p><p> </p><p>iv</p><p>He has let the room – </p><p>and now a watcher steals </p><p>everything he knows.</p><p> </p><p>v</p><p>Come and commandeer</p><p>this world, that world, take them all - </p><p>we have an excess.</p><p> </p><p>vi</p><p>Lift, scatter, dust, wind</p><p>down the ragged station cold, </p><p>strangers ever stirring.</p><p> </p><p>vii</p><p>Blue electric crown –</p><p>by the sky, I bring you close:</p><p>it covers us both.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>BEDFORDSHIRE, MARCH 1979</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>4. </p><p>CEASELESS</p><p>A cloudless blue</p><p>invites a house, long-lost, white</p><p>- honoured guest, seated,</p><p> </p><p>air still as whispers,</p><p>friends dining in candlelight;</p><p>a record playing, photographs shuffled --</p><p>as if a kindly cardsharp dealt redeeming kings</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LANGOLD HOUSE, SUMMER 1979</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>5. </p><p>BOMB</p><p> </p><p>Green fists of bud</p><p>lurch towards summer –</p><p> </p><p>bring me</p><p>to Sussex downs laid on chalk, cut sheer -</p><p>tracks to the sea.</p><p> </p><p>I lie - toes out,</p><p>following patterns on the waves;</p><p> following people spreading towels; following families</p><p>sweating in a salty breeze – sun pilgrims, returning</p><p>with plastic bags and floppy hats.</p><p> </p><p>The day has killed their talk; </p><p>there is only</p><p>the sexy grass beneath bare feet – </p><p>vast smooth fields below a prosperous sky –</p><p>a measureless ocean –</p><p>the smell of summer, </p><p>spreading like a blast.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>BEECHY HEAD, JUNE 1981</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>6. </p><p>SCHOOL</p><p> </p><p>Overnight, our schools have become</p><p>strewn streets in ruined cities -</p><p> </p><p>lessons taken</p><p>by looted shops, gutted cars –</p><p> </p><p>classrooms reached down roads burning</p><p>with debris from the night before;</p><p> </p><p>the playground, a hearth</p><p>of petrol flames shared on television; </p><p>the curriculum recast</p><p>by ragged warriors</p><p>in cities north to south –</p><p> </p><p>even unobtrusive towns have traded in</p><p>their silence for slogans, as if all this</p><p>could ever start a new term.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LANGOLD HOUSE, JULY 1981</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>7. </p><p>BUSTED</p><p> </p><p>This room is busted – </p><p>this house is broken –</p><p>bolted, a trail of bricks and masonry.</p><p> </p><p>Barbed wire, red with rust,</p><p>defines the edges</p><p>of a disappearing drive</p><p> </p><p>Birds call - boundlessly friendless.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LANGOLD HOUSE, JULY 1981</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>8. </p><p>PETITION</p><p> </p><p>Forgive us – say a prayer –</p><p>let’s dine on blood.</p><p> </p><p>Give us this day our daily bread - the man haemorrhaging</p><p>his life on bags of spilt basmati rice. </p><p> </p><p>All kingdom come -</p><p>unhallowed bodies bobbing downriver; lepers</p><p>trespassing the garden gates (dry to the right, wet to the left).</p><p> </p><p>The Power and the Glory -</p><p>the corpse delivered from evil </p><p>on a jute bier of marigolds, weaving through traffic.</p><p> </p><p>Ever and ever -</p><p>scraps of horse and jockey</p><p>minced on earth by a Naxalite bomb, bound for heaven,</p><p> </p><p>Thy will be done.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LANGOLD HOUSE, JULY 1981</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>9. </p><p>TRIBUTE</p><p> </p><p>i</p><p>This makeshift air, choked.</p><p>The dreams the old men held dear, </p><p>mountains poised to rise.</p><p> </p><p>ii</p><p>Tapers are unlit;</p><p>the alter is empty now,</p><p>its trinkets packed away.</p><p> </p><p>iii</p><p>Summer twists the knife – </p><p>leaves an unwieldly wilderness, </p><p>a wreath, remembered.</p><p> </p><p>iv</p><p>Still he assails,</p><p>as if love would ever be </p><p>an explanation.</p><p> </p><p>LANGOLD HOUSE, JULY 1981</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>10. </p><p>FICTION</p><p> </p><p>Why let him dream when really –</p><p>he cannot;</p><p> </p><p>why</p><p>let him think that he will live without end,</p><p>that he will draw</p><p>the flame from fire,</p><p>that</p><p>he can take it to the shadow –</p><p>to the silver in the dim – </p><p>to burn forever more?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LANGOLD HOUSE, JULY 1981</p><p>&nbsp...</p>
May 7, 2026
Waking
<p>WAKING</p><p>DAVID SWARBRICK</p><p> </p><p>1</p><p>Waking, I dream of</p><p>the tattered ends of magic: </p><p>flame trees, a white house.</p><p> </p><p>2</p><p>How could others count? </p><p>On the biggest rock of all </p><p>I hook my leash.</p><p> </p><p>3</p><p>I read the torn photo, </p><p>the boy, entering a car,</p><p>beneath frangipani trees.</p><p> </p><p>4</p><p>Ice blocks melt on lawns, </p><p>the dinner party long over. </p><p>Now the dawn crows caw.</p><p> </p><p>5</p><p>I made my garden</p><p>with the mali, plunging twigs </p><p>into watered earth.</p><p> </p><p>6</p><p>Deposed now, the queen </p><p>sits above the Adyar </p><p>with her transistor.</p><p> </p><p>7</p><p>Nothing is missing,</p><p>the supermarket stocks all. </p><p>And, plastic Buddhas.</p><p> </p><p>8</p><p>Only fireworks -</p><p>no gunshot, bombs, villages </p><p>circled by spiked heads.</p><p> </p><p>9</p><p>Always she is there -</p><p>airports, stations, quay, car parks, </p><p>angel without wings.</p><p> </p><p>10</p><p>This, my bomb helmet,</p><p>my dog that sleeps skull-to-skull. </p><p>What else would I need?</p><p> </p><p>11</p><p>A millennia ago</p><p>armies crept through these hills, </p><p>razed the grand kingdom.</p><p> </p><p>12</p><p>An easy trick to play – </p><p>that nothing matters at all </p><p>but what matters most.</p><p> </p><p>13</p><p>Dawn. The babbler calls, </p><p>and the small niggardly things </p><p>fade into the night.</p><p> </p><p>14</p><p>Pub, party, shopping – </p><p>all entrapment, is it not, </p><p>forgetting what’s next?</p><p> </p><p>15</p><p>Licking each other,</p><p>all day my dogs show their care. </p><p>Ah, if we could too.</p><p> </p><p>16</p><p>Jungle hills confuse</p><p>which way is north, which path leads </p><p>to the shallow sea.</p><p> </p><p>16</p><p>The tea Wiji brought</p><p>Cools fast. I have spent too long</p><p>dreaming in my bed.</p><p> </p><p>17</p><p>It will not complete –</p><p>the four-sided perfect square</p><p>that doesn’t quite meet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>19</p><p>This is my tally -</p><p>the long day burdened with scent</p><p>of sapu flowers.</p><p> </p><p>20</p><p>They had no daughters,</p><p>just sons who learnt not to speak,</p><p>but come, go and go.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>21</p><p>Tiny waves recall</p><p>last movements of a great storm</p><p>far out in the sea.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Written in a moment between 6.30 and</p><p>7.30 am in bed on 5th January 2026,</p>
November 6, 2025
Songs Without Music
<p>So Watch</p><p> </p><p>So watch </p><p>my flesh decay</p><p>and see </p><p>how beautifully it goes;</p><p>like something </p><p>asking to be loved;</p><p>like you, </p><p>too shy to ask me</p><p>to your room;</p><p>marks that will survive </p><p>are marks on skin and mind:</p><p>not you with me,</p><p>not face to face;</p><p>and only this,</p><p>a last decay</p><p>pitching to hide itself</p><p>when each </p><p>has gone their way.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cause</p><p> </p><p>Under empty skies</p><p>air finds no flags;</p><p>people march </p><p>but the banners</p><p>are burnt;</p><p> </p><p>the world</p><p>is bleeding into hell,</p><p>and into hell</p><p>the world</p><p>betrayed.</p><p> </p><p>My fist is flat,</p><p>the truth is traded;</p><p>there is nothing left </p><p>to kill for</p><p>or to honour.</p><p> </p><p>the world</p><p>is bleeding into hell,</p><p>and into hell</p><p>the world</p><p>betrayed.</p><p> </p><p>Angel</p><p> </p><p>I bought a glass palace in Paradise</p><p>with a pool and fifty rooms;</p><p>and off its slender flagstaff</p><p>I can fly to the moon.</p><p> </p><p>I’m god in the city, god in the town,</p><p>I came from hell but I’m here;</p><p>from nighttime to nightfall</p><p>my parties do not end.</p><p> </p><p>I’m alive and free so look at me</p><p>I dream at the top of the sky;</p><p>my fingertips are strips of jade -</p><p>there’s no way I can die.</p><p> </p><p>I’m god in the city, god in the town,</p><p>I came from hell but I’m here;</p><p>from nighttime to nightfall</p><p>my parties do not end.</p><p> </p><p>Welcome, roll up, welcome,</p><p>watch kings and princes sigh;</p><p>they beg to use my golden wings.</p><p>they beg to learn to fly.</p><p> </p><p>I’m god in the city, god in the town,</p><p>I came from hell but I’m here;</p><p>from nighttime to nightfall</p><p>my parties do not end.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>City of Fear</p><p> </p><p>Last night I flew over the city of fear;</p><p>dark coated people came down the streets;</p><p>they had angel eyes and shrank from light;</p><p>they looked at me and wished to fly -</p><p>but they couldn’t grow wings.</p><p> </p><p>And in the end</p><p>it’s the end that living’ about;</p><p>they do not know how to go</p><p>they can escape no more</p><p>they have turned to salt</p><p>inside the doorways</p><p>of this city of fear.</p><p> </p><p>Moon high, my rocket feathers carry me free</p><p>I see the late night-clubs open up,</p><p>the curtains of private room drift apart;</p><p>the battle’s over, but in coloured light,</p><p>the battle starts again.</p><p> </p><p>And in the end</p><p>it’s the end that living’ about;</p><p>they do not know how to go</p><p>they can escape no more</p><p>they have turned to salt</p><p>inside the doorways</p><p>of this city of fear.</p><p> </p><p>People wait with wet wide eyes </p><p>but the gods have gone,</p><p>the night goes on;</p><p>coins rattle in their mouths</p><p>the gates have closed.</p><p> </p><p>And in the end</p><p>it’s the end that living’ about;</p><p>they do not know how to go</p><p>they can escape no more</p><p>they have turned to salt</p><p>inside the doorways</p><p>of this city of fear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Heros</p><p> </p><p>Come kill the heroes,</p><p>tear the faces from the walls;</p><p>there’s no misleading</p><p>leads us closer</p><p>to Hell.</p><p> </p><p>In every street, in every room</p><p>their faces stare, they take the air,</p><p>they grin and cheat and stir us;</p><p>they’ll do anything for us;</p><p>live our lives the way we want,</p><p>the heroes.</p><p> </p><p>Pictures in magazines</p><p>blow up their public lives;</p><p>the roles they play</p><p>kill for us</p><p>and lie.</p><p> </p><p>In every street, in every room</p><p>their faces stare, they take the air,</p><p>they grin and cheat and stir us;</p><p>they’ll do anything for us;</p><p>live our lives the way we want,</p><p>the heroes.</p><p> </p><p>Wars won in cinemas</p><p>are all we never were;</p><p>and all we ever are</p><p>just turns </p><p>to dust.</p><p> </p><p>In every street, in every room</p><p>their faces stare, they take the air,</p><p>they grin and cheat and stir us;</p><p>they’ll do anything for us;</p><p>live our lives the way we want,</p><p>the heroes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>River</p><p> </p><p>Night-time holds me down and empty</p><p>open to the flood;</p><p>nothing stops the river breaking in,</p><p>stops the river</p><p>breaking me.</p><p> </p><p>Not sleeping, not waking,</p><p>I’m trapped in the dark –</p><p>cold shadows surround me</p><p>closing around me;</p><p>it’s the dream world</p><p>of a lost world</p><p>of a world that never was.</p><p> </p><p>Faces, and the colours tasted</p><p>turn the years I have not lived;</p><p>take the lost road back,</p><p>take the road</p><p>unsaid.</p><p> </p><p>Not sleeping, not waking,</p><p>I’m trapped in the dark –</p><p>cold shadows surround me</p><p>closing around me;</p><p>it’s the dream world</p><p>of a lost world</p><p>of a world that never was.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cold City</p><p> </p><p>In rooms and bars the city through</p><p>I see you face the same;</p><p>every word and touch we make</p><p>recalls our needs again.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no time for holding back</p><p>no time enough for fear,</p><p>and if you wait forever</p><p>there’ll just be nothing there.</p><p> </p><p>Yet when love moves and speaks</p><p>its eyes are flat and closed;</p><p>and every time we want to give</p><p>it suddenly lets go.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no time for holding back</p><p>no time enough for fear,</p><p>and if you wait forever</p><p>there’ll just be nothing there.</p><p> </p><p>We scare of loving, loosing dreams</p><p>with this love that must not say</p><p>with this love that cannot ever</p><p>declare itself again.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no time for holding back</p><p>no time enough for fear,</p><p>and if you wait forever</p><p>there’ll just be nothing there.</p><p> </p><p>So hold me on your fi...</p>
12 total episodes available
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