THE DEEP POOL - FEBRUARY 2003

The snow, the snow - i see it all the time, but i can't reach it - not in a way that helps with the hunger, or maybe the thirst - a hunger like 'memory is hunger', as Ernest Hemingway's wife famously told him when he complained that he was hungry - i'll bet that made the bastard laugh out loud...or maybe thirst like the one that snow cannot quench - anyone who has eaten snow will know how unsatisfying that is in terms of thirst-quenching.

So, for weeks i have seen the snow but cannot really get to it. It started at Heathrow Airport about 10 days ago. I was waiting for an early flight to Milano where I was doing a promotional visit for two days - my Italian record company are exceptionally lovely people, and I knew that the radio work and interviews, although hard work, would only be hard work because the interviewers were real human beings with good questions about hunger and the joy of feasting after fasting - well, that's what it's like when you've waited 18 months for the great new Jackie Leven album - and i've been waiting for it myself... So i'm sitting in the departure lounge at Heathrow when suddenly it snows like Norway for 10 minutes - snow that had been predicted for days - still less snow than they were having in Roma - so of course, immediately the fuckin airport is closed for 2 and a half hours so they can 'de-ice' the runway, and now i'm sitting in a plane fulll of seriously pissed-off business persons - i was one of them! - looking at the first snow of the year, knowing that back at home, the rutted fields would have swirls and hush of white, and that by the time i returned from my trip, the snow would be gone once more. And that's just what happened. So there i am, sitting at Malpensa Airport, waiting to come home from Milano - a stunning blood and fire-red sunset over the snow-bound distant alps: Franco had managed to get me on an earlier flight home, i'm drinking expresso (in the Bar Italia) and watching the fierce elegant alps slowly fade into shimmering steel grey streaked with crimson - last glints of snow, then a journey thru darkness to the melting slush of home...

And now as i write, i've just returned from the city of Leeds where i stayed with my very good friends Richard and Janet MacFarlane in the Wharfedale town of Otley (of Chevin fame) - i arrived in the dark and left the next morning in the dark, knowing that the fields and ground were streaked with snow and ice, and huddling sheep were turning white - just to be there for a day and walk in the snow of the dale, then sit with old boys in the Red Lion, by the fire, listening to ancient conversations about absent friends....But no, i'm on the extremely late Virgin train out of Leeds, going to Southampton, and as the shredded lemon light of dawn picks out the Peak District, i can see MORE SNOW! from the window of the train - snow i can't touch, snow with my name on it ('yoohoo Jackie - come and get your hands red turning me into balls and throwing me at huffy crows'), snow that says 'this would be a good place to die - you'd be in love - yeah, you'd be cold, frozen even, but then you'd be at peace, and your books could be thrown away, your songs could be listened to again (when a man dies his portraits change), and we could smile at your boxes of collected 'interesting' beermats'............snow - - -

Well, in March i'll be in Tromso in the north of Norway, talking to Egon, the man who advises me on what records to listen to, playing at the Bla Rock Cafe, and there will be plenty of snow - only thing is,much as i love it, it won't, quite, be MY snow. Where has my snow gone - or do i now have so much sun that the snow knows its place? - i don't think so...

I'm playing a UK tour - i'm playing and singing well - i'm tired but not exhausted - i'm going to Penzance tomorrow, in the far west of Cornwall - i have to get there by 3 30pm so that i can buy some things, like A4 paper, so i can write to all the UK festivals, asking personally if i can come and play at them - it's terrible not being appreciated more fully in your own country, but it's nobody's fault but mine, and i'm not complaining...also, it's nearly Valentine's day and i want to find something that will say 'i love you' to my darling girl, but it's not easy - well, you will say, it's not MEANT to be easy - the more time you invest in buying a present, the more likely it will be that there is a real sense of soul in the effort and the offering - and i've been a bad scotsman in the past - there was that tartan baseball cap that i bought at Edinburgh train station on New Year's Eve as a birthday present for the lass - to my astonishment, it wasn't really what she wanted, and it wasn't even snowing... -

I don't believe it: i'm looking out my window, my little dog who is white and looks like Snowy from Tin Tin, is sitting by my side, looking up expectantly, and outside it's just started snowing - not hard, but with that big flake beauty that says 'ladies and gentlemen - this is snow', and confirms the heart in a passage of migration without which no joy can ever be found in the deep heart of grief, and the frozen earth can only offer you the worst of falls...............


jl