The Rain - 2:22



by Jan Noble & Justine Armatage

Recorded on the Cesarians floating studio
The River Lea, London
2014

Produced & Mixed by Teo Miller in Retone Sound Studio, London
Release date 09/12/14







Also available on eMusic, Amazon, GooglePlay and other digital distributors


Mumblefruit - 3:12



by Jan Noble & Justine Armatage

Recorded on the Cesarians floating studio
The River Lea, London
2015

Produced & Mixed by Teo Miller in Retone Sound Studio, London
Release date 13/03/14






III - 1:38



by Jan Noble & Justine Armatage

Recorded on the Cesarians floating studio
The River Lea, London
2015

Produced & Mixed by Teo Miller in Retone Sound Studio, London
Release date 09/02/15







Also available on eMusic, Amazon, GooglePlay and other digital distributors


On the surface - 3:17



by Jan Noble & Justine Armatage

Recorded on the Cesarians floating studio
The River Lea, London
2014

Produced & Mixed by Teo Miller in Retone Sound Studio, London
Release date 09/12/14







Also available on eMusic, Amazon, GooglePlay and other digital distributors


Not me - 3:15



by Jan Noble & Justine Armatage

Featuring Karen Bergeon
Recorded on the Cesarians floating studio
The River Lea, London
2014

Produced & Mixed by Teo Miller in Retone Sound Studio, London
Release date 06/06/15






The glass - 1:38



by Jan Noble & Justine Armatage

Featuring Beverly Chrome & Karen Bergeon
Recorded on the Cesarians floating studio
The River Lea, London
2014

Produced & Mixed by Teo Miller in Retone Sound Studio, London
Release date 13/09/15




The rain



The rain came light-footed at first, skipping
across the glass paving it had laid out
then with a crack of its white whip it broke
its own reflection, gave itself a kick
and brought the sky to a rolling boil.
We held our glasses to the swelling air
goaded the gods “So is that all you’ve got?”
We waited for them to make their wet move
puckered our purple lips for the measure.
But we weren’t ready for a war like this:
a war that goes to war against itself.
It tore at throats and livers, bladders, mouths
swallowing everything we had swallowed.
And it poured. And it couldn't stop pouring

Mumblefruit



Daddy did they tell you I was drowning in the cellar?
I was busy drinking bilge-water, black wine, moon-juice,
apple-tox, grape-shake, death-berry. Anything.

Now and again I'd come up for air remember?
No, no neither do I. It must have been
the grain-rinse, the pip-sap, the mumble-fruit.

I think I was trying to learn a new language there
the one that you wear in your whiskers now
that strange ventriliquy you've been given

that has burrowed into your open mouth
that has eaten holes in well worn sense
that new resident in the nest

whose plumage is familiar but wrongly placed
an irregular semaphore flagged out
displaying colour without correspondence.

Listen, to the flap and jabber, raise a glass
of steady-hand, of throat-strip, of mind-glaze
to the old crow dozing on the tiller

to the sailor finding his sea legs now
go open another bottle, let us share
the last dregs of this irregular lexicon
this sea speak, this lip loose brogue
that we spill into the singing wind
watch me, easy on the deck now

listing westward, bad as a barrel
and rolling off course, let the storm blow
itself out of its own accord.

I'm going below.
Down the hatch daddy
down the hatch.

III



This morning you will find me
lying in the neighbour's front garden
looking up at a peaceful blue sky.

And let me tell you that I
have as much of an idea
as to how I got here

as I do about why the sky's blue.
But it is so blue, so peacefully blue
and the grass smells green, effortlessly green.

But tell me is he there?
There at the window watching?
Your neighbour, is he there, wondering why

I am lying in his front garden?
Did he see me fall out of the sky?
Your neighbour with the melted face

who also fell out of the sky
when it buzzed with Messerschmits and Spitfires
when it thundered with Lancasters and Dorniers

- I made models of them all when I was a child
hung them up with fishing wire, above my bed
and dreamt of bombers and rockets and dogfights

in peaceful blue skies above effortless green.
Does he know why I fell out of the sky?
Your neighbour with the melted face?

Does he know why I'm lying in his front garden
with my mouth open? Tell him to plant geraniums
in there if he likes, let the snails slide over my eyes

but make sure he waters me
I'll die without water
make sure he waters me.

On the surface



Foolish I am but an idiot I am not
I slap the water with my palm
Foolish I am but an idiot I am not
What is on the surface delights me

I am taking a bath with Dylan Thomas
not having a bath
taking one
we are poets and poets
although we take
- we always take
we never have.

As usual I am sat at the tap end
what is awkward about bathing
with Dylan Thomas
what makes it uncomfortable
is not his insistence that I always sit at the tap end
is not that I feel obliged to always sit at the tap end
is not my resentment at always
having, having to take
the tap end
is not even the double-barrel of the taps themselves.

Nor is it, when he throws firstly his right leg
over my left shoulder
then secondly his left
over my right,
the weight of his puffy shanks
the incumbency of his legs around my neck if you will
when he thirdly rests the balls of his feet on the taps behind me
when he fourthly turns the tap handles with his toes.

Nor is it the simplicity, the dexterity in which he mixes
hot and cold together
I feel both an icy shiver
and a warmth rising between my kidneys
what is awkward about bathing with Dylan Thomas
is finding the appropriate moment
to tell him that I am fucking his wife.

I am fucking his wife behind his ears
while he soaps himself
I soak with her
while he scrubs all he has from himself
I sink back into the wet arms of his Mrs.

I would like to tell him but
a fool I maybe, an idiot I am not.
I slap the water with my palm

“What's it to be DT, DT what's it to be?”

“Float me over a whisky would you float me over a whisky?”

Not me



No, that wasn't me pale behind shades
ducking the day and the sunlight’s glances.
Not me wretched in a side street weekend
cornering into a bar for the cure.
Not me with my back to the history
watching the city scraping by outside.
Not me playing cards with the beer mats
lining them up in the Station Hotel.
Not me tagging behind the excursion
up the grubby coast well out of season.
Not me propping myself up on the front
watching your reflection spoil in the surf.
No, no, no I wasn't there remember
most of the time I simply wasn't there.

The glass



laughter is a glass of water
water is a glass of laughter
I love neither, I love the glass

darkness is daylight decanted
the day is moonlight distilled
I love neither, but love
the filling
and the emptying
of the glass
sdjhbc

MUMBLEFRUIT

THE RAIN / MUMBLEFRUIT / III / ON THE SURFACE / NOT ME / THE GLASS
POETRY - MUSIC

JAN NOBLE - JUSTINE ARMATAGE

MUMBLEFRUIT

THE RAIN / MUMBLEFRUIT / III / ON THE SURFACE / NOT ME / THE GLASS

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THE RAIN

MUMBLEFRUIT

III

ON THE SURFACE

NOT ME

THE GLASS

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Jan Noble is a writer and a poet.
Justine Armatage is a composer and performer.
They first worked together with the Cesarians whose eponymous debut album was recorded at Abbey Road studios by Craig Leon. This new collaboration of spoken word singles precedes an album of work expected for release in Autumn 2015.

www.jannoble.co.uk