Northern Sketches, by Gary Bunting

Northern Sketches

by Gary Bunting

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Includes unlimited streaming of Northern Sketches via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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$10 USD or more

1.	The Wrinkled Sea 01:07	lyrics	buy track
The Wrinkled Sea We walked by the wrinkled sea Huddled up against the vicious wind Whipping a storm from the east Through ginnels and nooks and cobbled streets Up the hundred and ninety nine steps I count every single one The sun behind us, casting those long shadows Leaving the slumbering streets below the Plimsoll line of dusk The boats creaking and bobbing Swaying and moaning in the harbor And we survey the scene of gravestones A hundred, two hundred years old Here when I was born and Here when I die I expect Frayed and weather worn Beaten by the wind Baked by the sun Frozen in the snow Dented by the rain The poems indecipherable The tributes undetectable The dates timeless The relatives loved and lost The elegies eroded The Bible quotes salt licked And I wonder if anybody remembers them These little pieces of history These moments
2.	This Northern Sky, This Solitude 02:24	lyrics	buy track
This Northern Sky, This Solitude This northern sky, sun, shining, silence, rolling hills, curves and angles This brooding hour, soft fingertips, silhouettes and masterpieces This skin of stains, vague sensations, hallucinations of ancient characters This fading day, betwixt, between, incomplete sleep, intrusions This golden emptiness, wild flowers wild like dancing girls in the sprinkling light This mirrorball shines, sparkles, highlights the high kites caught in This bob and weave in the sky, writing slow love letters home This shuffling evening, leaving, feeling the overspill, pushed and pulled in This shaft of silence, only traces of past conversations, forgotten, erased This pocket watch scene, time ticks serene, begin the begin on This marked deck, aces high, aces low, hands shown and chances blown This deserted landscape, fuzzy around the edges This unbuckling, winding down, settling in This returning, this traveler, volumes of train journeys and chain revolutions This flickering light, this disappearing light, glanced over bare shoulders This water colour painting, dainty flicks and arching swishes This gentle breeze that breathes life and tickles noses This horizon of perched birds in this corn yellow sunset This gathering night and this candle wax vibe This slow motion This fragile petal This orange sketch This lover’s mood This northern sky This solitude
3.	It's Been A While 01:20	lyrics	buy track
It’s Been A While It’s been a while since I last penned a black ink poem Been busy Collecting dirty postcards And washing soup stains out of the sofa Picking scabs like tin can ring pulls Pinning butterflies and storming castles Writing tragedies, comedies, remedies Sculpting heroines, theremins, Bedouins Deleting flash drives, smoking out beehives Afternoon naps, kick back, relaxing Remembering, forgetting, misplacing, maybe Brewing bad tea and oiling old knees Sewing up pockets and eyeballing sockets Manoeuvering death, improving life Growing blood apples, sidestepping arseholes Growing up, shaking up Thinking about all the things I should’ve taken up Diluting my pain, anticipating rainfall Sometimes you’ve got to carve the day out with a knife And sometimes, it just happens. It’s been a long old time, sure Some would say not long enough Just ask the postman Weighed down with my rejection letters A trail of elastic bands in my yard Like a mountaineer marking his way home “But they’re biodegradable” he smirks over his shoulder “Sure” I say But six months later, they’re still there Strangling field mice and choking magpies
4.	The Flame Still Burns 01:40	lyrics	buy track
The Flame Still Burns It rained all day That drizzle That misty drizzle like a pencil sketch in a soggy doggy eared pad We donned extra layers, buttons fastened, collars up We sat in creaking chairs, had afternoon tea in China cups Visited antique shops, seen Clarice Cliff teapots And rockabilly dresses covered in polka dots We sheltered by the Minster Reminded me of a photograph Taken on 35mm by my dad The last snap on the roll But it didn’t quite fit, the photo distorted at the edge Red and fiery, aflame Later, the Minster was struck by a bolt of lightning Caught alight Saved by the firefighters But, ravaged in parts Blackened and collapsing The camera never lies We walked on the city walls The ancient stones that surround this place Thought we could get of at an appropriate point But there was no exit So we walked and walked and walked We walked forever around this city Smeared with Starbucks and McDonald’s Medieval stone and neon slogans side by side Viking footprints and electric blue Ancient carvings and gaudy pink Reflected on the pavements Mirrored in the rainwater Projected on the city walls The layers of time, connected The old and the new Our past and present You can dampen the fire But the flame still burns
5.	From A To Z And Back Again 01:29	lyrics	buy track
From A To Z And Back Again I was on my way home in the October sunshine After being in a blind daze Day after day The realization hit me that life does indeed go on The dishes need washing The electricity bill needs paying You’ve got to comb your hair And change your underwear Work your forty hour week Fix that tap that leaks Do the little things to survive Because, life must go on When somebody you love dies The pyramids are still there The rain still falls and you never have an umbrella Ella Fitzgerald is still playing on the radio So let’s dance You still hate getting up early You’re surly before your first coffee Banoffee pie still gives you love handles The vandals still smash phone boxes You still can’t play the piano Your internet’s still running slow You need to shop for bread and milk Replace the flowers, they’ve wilted In the hungover clouds that shroud us all Life must go on when death appears And me? My younger days are behind me There are books on my shelf that will be left unread Words left unsaid Desires left unfed From A to Z And back again
6.	Animal Summer 01:46	lyrics	buy track
Animal Summer I open my eyes and listen to the thunder Waiting for the lightning to whip the sky But I never see it I wait, but it never comes I step outside the house A small bird lies on its back Not a feather out of place Its claws dainty Breakable Tail feathers hanging over the step Tiny eyes closed to the world The end will come to one and all I guess I walked past a rat every day for a while Slowly decomposing on the pavement Until finally The skeleton was all that remained It was washed away by the summer rain Deep into the ancient drainage system I hate that crunch of the snail underfoot In the dark, in the damp evenings Its fragile shell obliterated by a gigantasaur foot A Monty Python sketch The snail stretched Lingering in the tread Poked out by gravel Drowned in a puddle The last remains on the welcome mat Drying out in the sun like a dirty raisin There was a seal washed up on the pebbled beach Where I played with my sister We were kids I’d forgotten about that I haven’t seen her for a while, it’s been too long On the upside, I saved a bee today It was lifeless on the driveway Confused, weary, I sat with it Gave it sugary water, read it some Chaucer There’s the happy ending for you.
7.	The Half Fallen Tree 01:20	lyrics	buy track
The Half Fallen Tree I chopped a half fallen tree down in the yard today Don’t get me wrong It wasn’t a mighty redwood the width of a refrigerator But it was hard work It sure as hell didn’t want me to take up lumberjacking Either as a living or a hobby But it was the second tree that I’d cut down in my life The first being at my parents’ house They were away on holiday and the tree had fallen in a storm I was younger then though, it was easier When I finished and had piled the logs together I mean, I say logs but If you built a log cabin out of them It might be okay for Barbie and Ken For a weekend retreat I got the idea that I’d carve something out of this wood Just for a moment I’d watched too many off grid TV shows You know the kind People building cabins and beaver trapping Wrestling bears and purifying their own urine That’s not the life for me I’d miss supermarket checkout queues and fresh scones Stroking random cats in the street, barbershops Gridlock traffic, pretty girls, hair gel, book hunting, wi-fi Saturday afternoon football, funerals Doctor’s waiting rooms The smell of a bakery at dusk And all that jazz No, the lumberjack life It’s not for me
8.	Aloisius the Crab 01:56	lyrics	buy track
Aloisius The Crab I like writing to the sound of the rain, gently dabbing at the windows A candle burning, gingerbread and woodshed aromas A hot cup of tea in an ancient cup, filled up to the brim Tea stains in the cracks that spread like a spider’s web around the curves My headache trails away like ash in a fading fire But stir it up and the flames will rise, reaching, higher It’s been a long day The summer has seemingly faded And I’ve waded through it Sleep is the only remedy But it’s early yet, too early. I compose a list of chores of Doors to close, dirt to clean, button’s to button, the peacock’s preen The important and irrelevant, the elephant in the room Sad eyed at the piano keys So I pack my trunk and head to the coast Because the sea is my brother but some siblings They drown their own flesh and blood Without the blink of an evil eye Or a by or leave you in the sea like a punctured Lilo Later, caught in a fishing net, a crab chewing on your elbow You’re both slung on the deck, bereft The crew aghast and the crab Let’s call him Aloisius He sneaks off sideways, gives a pincer wave Glancing back with those lollipop eyes of his And Aloisius the crab drifts down Down, down, down to the sea bed He makes his home in a discarded saxophone That was blown by John Coltrane That was blown in the New York rain Blown through the New York nights Blown through the subway train and Until the day he died When it was blown Nevermore
9.	Dreadnought 01:33	lyrics	buy track
Dreadnought I remember the first song I learnt to play on the guitar Lessons every Monday A roomful of people playing A string buzzing, flat singing, tone deaf version Of ‘Tom Dooley’ A murder ballad and boy, did we murder it! We were a raggle taggle bunch Old and young, fathers and sons Hippy mums, young punks Lonely souls, people on the dole Folkies, okie dokies and the break time smokies Indie kids, the already dids The never gonna happens and me A guy turned up with a Les Paul Ready to rock’n’roll We’re all with cat gut ancient strings Car boot sale finds and necks that bend Another said he knew some of ‘Stairway To Heaven’ I’m pretty sure he played every second Big Jim Johnson taught us the chords To folk songs from days of yore Skiffle tunes and pop tones Little riffs and flummoxing solos Big Jim played this Dreadnought Yamaha Mother of pearl inlay around the curves He wore it on his bulbous belly Like an ornamental belt buckle I remember the first song I wrote It was a muddy Woody Guthrie rip-off I couldn’t sing, I could barely play I had no life experience and Poetry was new to me But, three chords and the truth Y’know
10.	Disturbing the Dust 00:55	lyrics	buy track
Disturbing The Dust It gives me a certain degree of pleasure, to think that If I ever get published I’ll be nestled on the shelves Somewhere between Charles Bukowski and Robert Burns In those coffee aroma book shops And small town libraries Parisienne market stalls and town hall book fairs Alphabetized and categorized On bargain shelves and thrift stores Charity shops and book pulping floors. Plucked out by intrigue Disturbing the dust Slipped in, smooth and straight Skim read while wasting time Fingered while sheltering from the rain Obsessed over and dismissed Reactions of “Who?” and “Never heard of him!” It gives me even greater pleasure to know that Between me, Bukowski and Burns Two of us are dead And one of them isn’t me
11.	Never Trust a Man in a Beret 01:22	lyrics	buy track
Never Trust A Man In A Beret He was a man I knew of rather than knew I told the police this when they hauled him away In his dirty mac and black beret I’d seen him around, sure Buying lollipops at the petrol station House door keys jangling Hanging down on a ridiculously long chain A chain you could lasso a passing horse with I’d seen his wife too All sneers and daubed lipstick She had this outrageous laugh Felt like a put on, this phoney happiness I’d seen the dog too Prowling the back yard Growling at my presence Eyeing me through a poked out knot hole in the fence I heard them argue about his ex I also heard the make up sex The bump’n’grind The rock’n’roll I held a glass up against the wall Their post sex muffled tones The clinking of glasses, one breaks The pipes chug, clunk Water rushes through and falls into the bath Swishing around, hot and cold I slept I was as surprised as anybody When the police knocked on my door To say that he’d drowned her Disemboweled her And buried her in the garden Where the dog had found her
12.	Blooming Flowers 01:29	lyrics	buy track
Blooming Flowers I awaken from an afternoon nap A religious vision stain on the wall From the boiler leak the other morning The tinkling chimes of the ice cream guy Dance through the window ajar Far away, an aeroplane banks left The heft of the engines sky high The birds in the aviary tweet and natter next door They have about ten, some will flap their wings But no matter how much they flap They’ll never fly towards the sun Or sit in the highest branch of a weeping willow Or fly south for the winter When the ice nips their plumage It’s hot It’s hot to move Hot to do, anything Hot to think about doing anything I just want to stay here Motionless, a reclining nude But food, I’m hungry and thirsty Oh mercy But this is what Sunday afternoons are for They’re languid and lazy bones Nap strewn and easy-osey Lounging around in your PJ’s and dozing Forget about work, tomorrow can wait Put on the kettle, I’ve got a date With coffee and toast and a fan on the go Let’s breeze through the hours Take a cool shower And relax in the sun Because we’re all blooming flowers
13.	Between the Pages 01:36	lyrics	buy track
Between The Pages From between the pages of a second hand Thomas Keneally novel Fell a postcard from Beadnell Bay A horseshoe curved sandy beach Golden sunshine on a glorious day I’ve found many items over the years In dog eared fiction souvenirs Parking tickets and train tickets to far away destinations Contactless receipts for London Underground stations Flyers for a Japanese art exhibition Long closed, far away in a Boston museum Business cards and Lichtenstein art Love notes and lists of hope Squashed spiders hidden down in the spine on page eighty nine A plaster, unused A stick of gum, chewed A pressed flower that turned to dust As I turned the page to chapter two “I’m rich!” I thought But Monopoly notes don’t pay the bills “I’m hungry” I mused But when an M&M rolled down the spine And settled into my old Levi’s I didn’t even want to touch it Never mind munch on it I’ve found internal library memos Condemning ‘American Psycho Shopping lists and Kawasaki stickers I’ve found plectrums from guitar pickers There was a short letter once From one friend to another About being positive and rising above it It ended with the line And, I’ll always remember “Don’t let the bastards grind you down” And that’s sage advice for everyone
14.	Sunflower Spiral 01:55	lyrics	buy track
Sunflower Spiral It’s one of those mornings when you know the summer’s fading There’s a nip, an edge to the air The light has ceased being electric And has become that muted blue grey shade It’s not quite autumn The leaves haven’t fallen onto the mulchy ground It’s the time when the sunflowers wilt And tilt their heads, bowed down And their spirals slowly unravel I have a doctor’s appointment and I sit Alone in the waiting room Admiring the emerald green tiles And the ornamental benches The lone sunflower outside Pixelated through the frosted glass The lush yellow petals wavering I have a good arm for extracting blood I would have made an amazing heroin addict Fist clenched, the veins glow For a moment I am William Burroughs But y’know, the older you get The less confidence you have at your appointments The pokes and prods, the coughs and the nods That hanging silence The creak of my leather jacket amplified around the walls The form filling, the box ticking, the pen clicking A horn blasts from the street below Is that the clock or my heart beating? I notice the enormousness of my breathing I mean, come on Measure me for the coffin already! No, I’m fine, but time, y’know? If I live to my grandfather’s age I’m just past my halfway stage in life If I reach the age of my mum I can count the years on my fingers and thumbs A sobering thought for anyone.
15.	Linoleum Milk 01:34	info	buy track
16.	Damp Polaroids 02:12	lyrics	buy track
Damp Polaroids I stumbled across a photo album today Discarded or lost, I don’t know Open on the pavement, the Polaroids damp Water damaged weddings and soggy birthday celebrations Some images irretrievable Cheshire cat grins floating through bubbles of distortion The photographs given brown frames Creeping towards the centre A slow creep For they’d been there a while I flick through the landscapes and the backyard fun The birthday cakes and the setting suns The bun fights, the one of granny The coastal sights and a pint of shandy with cheese’n’onion crisps It reminds me of a time when I came upon a backstreet book shop It had cats lounging on the shelves and a bell tinkled when you entered There were spiders in the poetry section, books sprouting in all directions My eyes were drawn to a box of postcards in the bay window I flicked slow Picasso paintings and Pink Floyd album covers, ‘Whistler’s Mother’ Images of Che Guevara and Cleopatra, Sherlock Holmes and Marilyn Monroe Billie holiday and hidden away, between these images were photographs Memories Spitfires and Hurricanes with an old man stood between the planes Medals pinned to his tweed jacket A war hero, no doubt And when they cleared out his house there was nobody to claim them And they ended up here I’m not a reminiscer a wisher of going back to the past But I do like the old photographs The childhood holidays, my dad’s moustache Mum’s huge glasses, my sister’s goofiness The memories, celebrations and special occasions Of course, time moves on, as it should People pass, sometimes too soon And all you have are the photographs The sentimental value of otherwise worthless things
17.	To Be On The Road 01:43	lyrics	buy track
To Be On The Road I took a trip to the coast today A road trip with my dad It wasn’t exactly Kerouac As we ate sandwiches in our anoraks We watch a confused whippet get reunited with its owner Took a park and ride bus into the town centre I hadn’t been to this place in maybe thirty years or so But I remember drinking Coca-Cola in glass bottles Chip butties and bingo callers Maggie’s den and legs eleven One armed bandits and slot machine heaven Sandcastles, sailing boats Bats swooping down as we walked home to our caravan Which was destroyed in a storm Folded up like a cardboard box Awoken at night by the squalling foxes Like you, I’ve been restricted in life Spent eighteen months not venturing outside Of the sane old towns, the same old places The same old faces that you see around And there we were, in crowds and smells Bumper cars and Ferris wheels Pink candy floss spinning slowly Toffee apples to rot your molars The beach, long and empty, swathed in sunshine A couple of kids in the rock pools laughing Reminds me of when we went crabbing I can’t say, hand on heart, that everything came flooding back Places change, towns get rearranged Into one way systems and tenement flats It’s not all Bridlington rock and “Kiss me quick” hats Oh, my sister, she wore deeley boppers! I just remembered that! It was a good day To be on the road
18.	The 243rd Chorus 02:04	lyrics	buy track
The 243rd Chorus My love is in Mexico Lounging by the pool The water spooling around her daughter As she swims lengths beneath the Aztec sun And I’m here, many miles distant The same sun, thin on my eyelids There’s a faint piano tinkling in the background A novice’s first steps The bum notes, the fluffed chords The misplaced fingers, the diminished fourths Sound like I know what I’m talking about But I don’t For I am a failed piano player My love played one of those street corner pianos once A musical interlude at Niagara Falls I can’t quite recall the title though The piano playing stops abruptly With a clang and a thud of frustration I turn the station over on the television Then turn again, then turn again These late afternoons curl around themselves like a baby hedgehog I want to do something but, y’know I’ve walked too many miles today I’ve trudged through the week That Friday feeling doesn’t exist when Saturday comes And sleep feel like your only option But headaches throb and keep you awake The lawn just won’t mow itself You have to make time for things before Monday begins But wait! It’s a bank holiday I can procrastinate the day away Pick blackberries from the garden, have a muffin and a banana Sleep a while, lounge around, drinking coffee and read poetry aloud Stay up late, well, maybe midnight, actually, eleven’s more my style When my eyes begin to flicker with sleep And my mind drifts to the in between Oh, the song! It was ‘We Beseech Thee’ It just came to me
19.	We Board the Train 01:29	lyrics	buy track
We Board The Train We board the train on a crisp January morning A journey of two contrasting halves The first inner city graffiti covered walls of abandoned mills Those dark satanic mills to which Blake referred Now abandoned or furniture outlets Commuter apartments or department stores The sun springs through the clouds And, at around this time We find that they’re filming a TV show about The everyday train traveler We don’t make the edit We change trains at a gothic station built in the nineteenth century Drink coffee, eat homemade scones and on we go This isn’t a high speed journey though We canter down the tracks, slipping through the wild moors Gliding over the rails Passing small outcast towns and miniature villages Solitary farm houses Dry stone walls like crumbling dust Craggy hedgerows like cracks on the window pane Finally we reach our destination A one track quaint coastal station The end of the line A long but beautiful journey We disembark Weary and ready to eat As the sun sets on the stalking gulls Poking at lobster pots and boat decks For scraps that the fishermen missed We kiss Take in the vista Hustle through the tiny streets Of a coastal town in winter Huddled together As one
20.	Listen Up 01:52	lyrics	buy track
Listen Up Football boot studs on concrete floors One of the sounds I adore Reminds me of being young again The whirring bicycle chain Tick-tick-ticking around the cassette Freewheelin’ into the setting sun Pinball machines and penny arcades Handclaps and finger snaps In the vinyl grooves dug out by the needle The spinning coin on the tabletop The pop of the warm toast arriving The striking match, swoosh! The stubble scrape The coffee percolates, drip by drip by drip The rip of the orange peel exposing the naked fruit The clink of the pool hall balls against one another and The rolling journey through the table’s labyrinth The pen gliding across the surface of fresh clean paper The crisp crunch The clunk of the railway track The tip-tap rain The click of the camera The rollerskate wheel on the graffiti curve The coastal birds searching for morsels The bottle smashing in the bottle bank The town hall bells chiming The sliding bowling balls down the alley The thunder rumble The bumblebee buzz The growl of the motorcycle And the prowl of the silent cat Compacting snow underfoot, white The to and fro of the longing tide A beck, trickling over rocks and stones The blown horns, a city, alive And when the last letterbox closes And my leather belt whips through the loops on my trousers And the buckle rattles when I hang it on the door handle I get to hear my favourite sound of all And that’s when my love laughs From the bottom of her deep, deep, heart
21.	The Slow Move 01:34	lyrics	buy track
The Slow Move The autumn light comes tussling in, playing amongst her hair As dusk breaks, we blink ourselves awake but we lounge around like lovers do Arms entwined like tree roots, minds drifting, warm thoughts The day has begun but so what We move slow There’s no need to rush Dust flickers and drifts, trickling, the sun lighting up corners, momentarily We are huddled up, in the nook, feeling good, feeling soothed We have to remind ourselves that the world exists outside We begin the untangling, the rearranging Taking the jigsaw apart But we do it slow There’s no need to rush We step, barefoot, our soles warm on the creaking wood We dance toward the multi coloured rug We boil the coffee, the smell fills the fresh air Sticky cider doughnuts on our fingertips Leaves brittle, slowly falling in the woods And we sit in the new calm of the morning sun Peaceful, tranquil Another night, another day It had to end, I guess As I turn my head back to the place Where my love and I just laid But we move slow There’s no need to rush

about

Every once in a while an artist comes along who stops you in your tracks. Gary Bunting's writing is that way. Gary is from Yorkshire, which is in the North of England. His writing feels as if it were recorded many years ago, with its gravestones and cold sea and cobble streets, its Northern light like a watercolor painting. It feels old, mysterious, and substantial like Joyce's Dubliners or a lost poem from a lost book in a dusty, sunlit bookshop. But listen close and you will witness the modern day come through in a way that feels natural and truthful as can be.

You'd be remiss to see that this is both timeless and the story of now, of 2021 in the midst of medieval stone, brooding sky, and churchyard steps. It's McDonald's and the timelessness of October sunshine, the ancient stillness of fall and gaudy neon slogans. Gary's writing moves effortlessly between the immensity of death, morning coffee, achingly evocative childhood memories, department stores, bank holidays, abandoned mills, the sound of poolhall balls hitting against each other, love, townhall bells, gardens, amusement park rides, letterboxes, work, bad neighbors who surprise you how bad they truly are, lazy days, the sound of a match struck, sun through clouds, the ebb and flow of the tides, travel, homemade scones, blooming flowers, penny arcades, wild moors, the laugh of the one you love most, solitary farmhouses, sea gulls, lobster pots, domesticity, piano music, that Friday feeling, loneliness, train journeys, coastal towns, hushed streets, margarine on toast, daily chores, the setting sun, yard work, and so much more. As a pony he knows much more than one trick. As a town he has many horses.

His work is also funny. In the midst of his beautiful, deliberate, ironclad-lovely writing, you might not catch how funny he can be (and you'd be missing out to do so). Gary brings a lot to the table as they say. His reach is deep, his touch graceful.

I want the cassette tape of Gary Bunting's Northern Sketches to be one of your favorite things this fall. I want it to be a companion for these changing days and I will stop at nothing until you fall in love with him and his beautiful writing. The text for each track is provided on the Bandcamp listing. Read along. Listen on a quiet day. Give him your ear and your time. This is good for you.

-Adam Gnade

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released October 22, 2021

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Hello America Stereo Cassette

A new record label releasing audio recordings of writers' work. Poems backed by noise. Novels as audio books. Stories on cassettes. Curated by Adam Gnade. Currently accepting submissions.