The Poem

Close, close all night the lovers keep
They turn together in their sleep

Close as two pages in a book
That read each other in the dark

Each knows all the other knows
Learned by heart from head to toes
- Elizabeth Bishop

So rang Terminals A and B of Kuala Lumpur International Airport at midnight Monday July 6th. Over and over again. Possibly the first time they have done so. Actually almost certainly the first time they have done so. The odd dozing traveller, noticed only when they stirred, and shushing me instantly to silence, are my only witnesses.

This was the Poem I read at the Wedding and by God I was going to get it right. I was already reciting it in my sleep. But how to get the intonation right? Is the emphasis on 'close, close', 'all night' or 'the lovers'. Still don't know. But I chose 'the lovers' anyway and kind of at random. Also had to get timing right. I can read out loud quickly. I *like* to read out quickly. It makes the whole thing go away just that much more quickly. But that wouldn't be appropriate. 10 seconds. Then 11 seconds. I finally got it out to 12 seconds. Though possibly by awkward insertion of forced pauses than a nice even pace.

I've got an odd relationship with poetry. Some I really like and actually 'get' (such as the superlative 'If'). Some is a little harder. Love poems have been a particular challenge. I'm far more comfortable with 'Afar the bugle blows to call me where I would not go... But since the man who runs away lives to die another day... Therefore though the best be bad, stand and do the best my lad...' but although possibly accurately representing the typical groom's state of mind, would certainly earn the undying enmity of the bride. Besides, it wasn't my choice, Elizabeth Bishop's unnamed piece it was.

Fast forward four days to Friday July 10th and I was doped to the eye-balls on approximately 5mg of Temazepam (accounting for a 12 hour half-life from a 3am 10mg dosage) and about three hours sleep. A reticence about booking a hotel room before I could pronounce the town's (Jyvaskyla) name (weird, I know), and a music festival in town had forced me into a converted student dorm shit-hole of a 'hotel' with all the charm, and approximately similar facilities, of a Cat C prison cell, and with translucent drapes wholly inadequate to the blocking of the summer solstice midnight twilight.

Not in an ideal condition for poetry recital.

By 3pm we had arrived by boat at the Wedding location. A truly beautiful location, it must be said, even if its crude wooden structures amidst the boreal forest felt like we'd ventured 'north of the wall' (good thing 'summer was coming'). I was a nervous wreck. Alcohol was out of the question as its reactions with temazepam can be... fascinating. I got strange looks from those around me as I constantly muttered to myself about turning in ones sleep and heads and toes. Worse the poem was beginning to fade from memory. Short as it was, lacunae were appearing, overwritten in my memory by the awesomeness of the wedding and restorable only by a few seconds of hard concentration. My smartphone was on hand, but hardly congruent with the setting. Then the Groom handed me an attractively bound Finnish edition of an Ernest Hemingway work. 'Thanks, mate!' But inside the front cover was the Poem, printed in large friendly letters.

The Bride's Sister came over to let us know we were up and looking sharply in my direction, presumably in response to my look of half-stoned terror, 'Don't mess it up'. The Bride's Friend went first, reading her piece, an extract from Captain Corelli's Mandolin, beautifully in Finnish. Then I was up.

In a loud, clear voice -

'Close,closetheloverskeepSTOPtheyturntogetherintheirsleepSTOPcloseastwopagesinabookSTOPthatreadeachinthedarkSTOPeachknowsalltheotherknowsSTOPlearnedbyheartfromheadtotoesSTOP'

Oh fuck. I think that was under 10 seconds. The Bride leaned over and whispered something to the Groom who shrugged helplessly. I found my place and waited for the earth to swallow me as I fixed those around me with a thousand yard stare. Oh well, 25 years is a good run for any friendship really.

It turned out not to be as bad as all that. The Groom's (non-Finnish) Father said it was all very 'Finnish' - which would have been even better had the actual Finnish been able to understand me. The consensus was that I was loud, clear and generally 'fine'. When pressed, someone ventured that I could have perhaps slowed it down a little, but that really, 'it was fine'.  The Groom assured me the whisper and shrug were unrelated entirely. My greater relief though was when the Bride spoke to me later. I can't remember what it was about, but She Spoke To Me. I hadn't ruined her day, and that was more than enough, and possibly more than I deserved.

And I'm so, so happy for the new couple.