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I
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Mark Hollis knew Kate Bush
One of his obituaries mentioned:
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Imagine those two sweet retreaters
Meeting for tea
And a fag.
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Two sublime voices, curtailed
By the scope and scale of perfection;
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Kate’s as she motors,
Mark’s as he moves his still unrecognised
Car
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From the drag
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Into a surburban zone.
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Wimbledon.
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Hidden no doubt by blank houses.
English trees tend to glisten
Even in gale
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To shield stars.
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II
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II
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Mark Hollis rides his bike through
The States, full with Flick,
His wife and their children.
He cuts the road like words wasted
In his former cryptic expressions
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Of song.
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As Kate Bush’s voice attained grace,
Hollis charted the sacred;
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An angel’s scrape through stone chambers
As it shoulders its wings past the gates.
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He blurred and mumbled
But light found source
In his throat
And piano;
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A handful of notes,
Almost painted
Onto the canvas air, with control.
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Clarinet.
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Guitar blast.
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Harmonica like a razor,
Blooding the line of intention
All the ancient way
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To soul’s Page.
..
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III
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Mark Hollis moved from a teenage
Love of Stravinsky
From the rite of spring to its colour,
Through the dischord of winter
Into the other
Reflected back
On lost eyes.
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Now the record spins, blank
But rich with the silence he fought for:
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Under its thin dominion
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Rivers of sound
Stalk fresh earth.
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By walking away, skipping suns
He influenced a fresh landscape.
Now he creeds his own;
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Hollis
Holy
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Patron Saint of privation
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As we leer light
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You play skies.
You play skies.
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David Erdos 28th March 2019
Video: Life’s What You Make It
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I didn’t know Mark Hollis only through listening to his music for years in the ‘80’s.
Comment by Jackie on 23 April, 2024 at 5:49 pmI’m here to give condolences to his wife and children.
I understand he passed away 5 years ago in 2/2019.
I’m a fan from California.