Talk to me

 

Talk to me

This week I saw the Poem ‘Saint Anthony’ by Mike Garry. It’s ostensibly a tribute to the late Tony Wilson, journalist, TV presenter, co-founder of Factory Records, founder-owner of the legendary Hacienda night club and all-round promotor of music and other culture in Manchester. The poem is also a homage to Manchester and through its lyrical approach, is something of a love letter to that fine city.

As I listened to the poem being performed and lip-synced by a good few northern actors and musicians who knew Tony Wilson, I got to thinking that the form and rhythm of the poem would be a perfect vehicle for exploring what Celtic football club has meant to so many down the years. My humble effort is below but should you wish to get a feel for the rhythm of the poem you can watch the original poem here…

 

Talk to me

Talk to me about the coffin ships taking people far and wide

Of a Sligo man from the Kerins clan, who landed on the Clyde

Of slums and drums and hungry kids and the cold unwelcome stare

From those who chose to thumb their nose and wish we weren’t there

 

Talk to me of trying to give those people hope and pride

From far and near they came to cheer, Brother Walfrid’s Celtic side

Of Maley, Kelly, Neil McCallum, who scored that first great goal

Of the men in green who were it seems custodians of our soul

 

Talk to me of Patsy Gallagher, Barney Battles and the mighty Quinn

Of men who thought, who played and fought and gave their all to win

Of James McGrory, what a story when he made old Hampden roar

The quiet lad from the Garngad who was simply born to score

 

Talk to me of a blustery and raw September day

When a lad from Fife gave up his life to keep ball at bay

Of the jeers and the cheers and many tears when Johnny said goodbye

Of lives he touched, those who cared too much and weren’t afraid to cry

 

Talk to me of Tully, Fernie and Bobby Collins on the ball

Of Peacock, Stein who wore the green, the greatest of them all

Of October days when we sang their praise at Hampden in the sun

When the lads in green played like a dream, smashed Rangers seven-one

Talk to me of rainy days when victory seemed so far

Of dirty streets and sore defeats, and sorrows drowned in a bar

Of second prizes, hope that rises then falls back in the mud

Of fans who dreamed, forlorn it seemed, with Celtic in their blood

 

Talk to me Cesar rising high amid the crowd

Of a ball that sped from his head, that roar so fierce and loud

Of Lennox, Auld and Bobby Murdoch, pulling all the strings

Of the glory years and the happy tears when Billy was our King

 

Talk to me of thousands sailing but no coffin ships this time

To Lisbon’s sun, went Walfrid’s sons, to see hope and history rhyme

of football played, that sunny day that was beautiful and pure

The beguiling flare the answered prayer when victory was secure

 

Talk to me of magic times with Jimmy on the wing

Of swerves and jinks and late-night drinks, of dreams and songs to sing

Of Johnny Doyle, big Roy Aitken, Danny and McStay

Of reports I read and tears I shed when Kenny went away

 

Talk to me of the generations who took this club to heart

The amazing story of the tears and glory and how they played their part

Of the twists and the turns of Tommy Burns, of how ‘they’re always there’

Of Jorge Cadette, and the effort and sweat, Andy Thom and big Pierre

 

Talk to me of Lubo, Sutton, Hartson and the King of Kings

Of Naka scoring against Man United when the noise made my ears ring

A  quadruple treble, until the last rebel and the bhoys of the Green Brigade

Of Seville and the Bill and the utter thrill of this love that will never fade

 

Talk to me as we share a drink of the players and the goals you’ve seen

Of Larsson’s chip, a defenders slip as we roared on the bhoys in green

Of Janefield street, of the friends we’d meet as we walked to Paradise

Of the moans, the groans and you’ll never walk alones as we back our side

 

Talk to me of all you see at a game underneath the lights

Of songs and goals as Celtic souls drive their team on to greater heights

Of games you’ve watched with those you love some gone and some still here

You think of them every now and then as you give the bhoys a cheer

 

Talk to me about this club we all hold in our heart

Of a Saturday on the Gallowgate as it has been from the start

Talk to me of the charity, of the good things we have done

It’s not the man or the creed but a friend in need that we will never shun

 

Talk to me about Celtic.

Talk to me.

Talk.