LISTENING TO PAUL MULDOON
I was not prepared for this. I would have thought
a man wearing glasses
with part of a broken ploughshare in one lens
and the smoke-trail of a riddle in the other
would have preferred
a lofty register, leaving iron filings to curl
from the highly-strung lathe of his recording.
Yet here is a voice
so resonant with acoustic Irish music,
you¹d half expect a coppering of barnlight
and a smear of creosote
to bond on the ill-lit country dance floor of itself.
AL
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