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Swing Easy Feb 4, 2014

Mike Westbrook: live concert of William Blake poems


The whole of this Swing Easy show was devoted to the Mike Westbrook live recording, Glad Day – ten poems of William Blake, with Mike Westbrook, piano, Steve Berry, bass, Phil Minton, vocals, Karen Street, accordion, Billy Thompson, violin, and Kate Westbrook, vocals.


Mike Westbrook Youtube playlist

The Fields

The fields from Islington to Marybone,
To Primrose Hill and Saint John’s Wood,
Were builded over with pillars of gold;
And there Jerusalem’s pillars stood.

Her Little Ones ran on the fields,
The Lamb of God among them seen,
And fair Jerusalem, His Bride,
Among the little meadows green.

Pancras and Kentish Town repose
Among her golden pillars high,
Among her golden arches which
Shine upon the starry sky.

The Jew’s-harp House and the Green Man,
The Ponds where boys to bathe delight,
The fields of cows by William’s farm,
Shine in Jerusalem’s pleasant sight.

She walks upon our meadows green;
The Lamb of God walks by her side;
And every English child is seen,
Children of Jesus and His Bride;

Forgiving trespasses and sins,
Lest Babylon, with cruel Og,
With Moral and Self-righteous Law,
Should crucify in Satan’s Synagogue.

What are those Golden Builders doing
Near mournful ever-weeping Paddington,
Standing above that mighty ruin,
Where Satan the first victory won;

Where Albion slept beneath the fatal Tree,
And the Druid’s golden knife
Rioted in human gore,
In offerings of Human Life?

They groan’d aloud on London Stone,
They groan’d aloud on Tyburn’s Brook:
Albion gave his deadly groan,
And all the Atlantic mountains shook.

Albion’s Spectre, from his loins,
Tore forth in all the pomp of War;
Satan his name; in flames of fire
He stretch’d his Druid pillars far.

Jerusalem fell from Lambeth’s vale,
Down thro’ Poplar and Old Bow,
Thro’ Malden, and across the sea,
In war and howling, death and woe.

The Rhine was red with human blood;
The Danube roll’d a purple tide;
On the Euphrates Satan stood,
And over Asia stretch’d his pride.

He wither’d up sweet Zion’s hill
From every nation of the Earth;
He wither’d up Jerusalem’s Gates,
And in a dark land gave her birth.

He wither’d up the Human Form
By laws of sacrifice for Sin,
Till it became a Mortal Worm,
But O! translucent all within.

The Divine Vision still was seen,
Still was the Human Form Divine;
Weeping, in weak and mortal clay,
O Jesus! still the Form was Thine!

And Thine the Human Face; and Thine
The Human Hands, and Feet, and Breath,
Entering thro’ the Gates of Birth,
And passing thro’ the Gates of Death.

And O Thou Lamb of God! whom I
Slew in my dark self-righteous pride,
Art Thou return’d to Albion’s land,
And is Jerusalem Thy Bride?

Come to my arms, and nevermore
Depart; but dwell for ever here;
Create my spirit to Thy love;
Subdue my Spectre to Thy fear.

Spectre of Albion! warlike Fiend!
In clouds of blood and ruin roll’d,
I here reclaim thee as my own,
My Selfhood—Satan arm’d in gold!

Is this thy soft Family-love,
Thy cruel patriarchal pride;
Planting thy Family alone,
Destroying all the World beside?

A man’s worst Enemies are those
Of his own House and Family;
And he who makes his Law a curse,
By his own Law shall surely die!

In my Exchanges every land
Shall walk; and mine in every land,
Mutual shall build Jerusalem,
Both heart in heart and hand in hand.

From Jerusalem


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