Der Priester der Krähen

To paraphrase Star-Trek:
You've never read Greville and the Tombstones until you have read it in German.

The wonderful @tellthee, who I am lucky to call a friend, has translated into German my work The Priest of Crows









I truly believe the German language versions of my works add a special dimension to the meaning of them.

And of course, the translation means that German fans of the band can more easily enjoy Greville and the Tombstones.

I love that my words are translated here.

 

Artwork by Jeanie Laub

I am very lucky to know some amazing people through this blog. One of those is the talented artist Jeanie Laub, living in Edinburgh.

I've appreciated Jeanie's art for some time, attending her gallery exhibitions, and I was terribly nervous when we finally met this year. I barely uttered a word!

Jeanie has unveiled a work which incorporates my poetry (an excerpt from Seven Deadly Sorrows).

It was unexpected and I am utterly thrilled. I am incredibly touched and love the piece very much.

Although I cannot tell how much of the drawing was inspired by me, each of the beautiful elements in the artwork resonate in me. I feel that it captures something of me, a feeling both disorientating and wonderful.

I hope one day to be able to visit it when exhibited.

I hope Jeanie won't mind me sharing it here for admirers of the band.

Never in my life thought I would inspire art. I will be forever grateful to Jeanie that I have.

 

 

 

 

The Priest of Crows

This is:

The Priest of Crows

Won’t someone rid me

of this

black feathered smoke which

haunts around my bones,

Skulks on my gallows

I have only a little life, after all

Ribcage kirk congregation

Gather

Dead risen, gnashing teeth

Shimmering oyster shells,

Hymns a wail of woes

I want to peck out all the souls

I cannot peck out all the souls

I cannot taste my own.

I am a priest of crows

I call out “blood, your blood!”

To you

Cry out gutturally to you

Murder cold winds howl

Sermon driven low

I’ll set my wings wide on the sky

Wilfully

May my light reach thee:

My trembling words reach thee!

As grieving craws

I want to save all the souls

I cannot save all the souls

I cannot save my own

I want to heal all the souls

I cannot heal all the souls

Scratched is my own

I can no longer hear your prayers

I will no longer hear your prayers

I want to absolve all your sins.

My forgiveness cannot grow

Down a path you chose.

I am a priest of crows

Won’t someone take me

Off this

Gibbet beam, I care for it not.

I am no salvation here.

I am a priest of crows

I have only a little life, after all

Lusts and Grudges: Tell Thee mix

I am incredibly appreciative of friend of the band, @tellthee who has translated the latest Greville and the Tombstones hit, Lust and Grudges into German.

I am so grateful that @tellthee has taken the time to do this. And it is a perfect choice for her to make, like Romantic Masochist, to be written in German.

Lusts and Grudges has affected a lot of the fans and I know that this new version in translation will add to everything they feel about it.

I love this version. It is amazing.
It is Lusts and Grudges, covered and mixed and translated by the fabulous @tellthee.

Lusts and Grudges

This song came unexpectedly, but took some time to get to this state. This state where I am happy to show it.

I think that it is unusual in that it can be played by Greville and the Tombstones in two ways depending on how the vibes are: bouncy free-roaming or as an aging stomp. Who knows which is lusts and which grudges?

Of course it is unusual too, because there is not even one tune for it.

This apart, I'm pleased with it as I think it is definitely a full-on Greville and the Tombstones track.

I hope the fans and the adorers like it.

You are in my soul.



Lusts and grudges:

I hold lusts

As long as I hold grudges

No matter how deep below

They can be

Resurrected

So they burn through me

Soul for gasoline

I feel lusts

Same as I feel grudges

Fill my feeble condition

Spiteful

And essential

And they won’t die down

Soul for a dungeon

I’ve trapped them

I’ve buried them

I’ve painted them

I’ve caged them

I’ve ripped them

I’ve slit them

I’ve adored them

I’ve rendered them

I’ve carried them

I’ve used them

And I burn all your religious artefacts

Can’t cast out

Lusts and grudges

Keep me held under the gun

With Jesus,

I’m on fire

Lord parched from sermonising

Sole for clear water

I’m nothing but

Lusts and grudges

Beautiful and terrible to behold

I hold them

All to me

But none I hold the way

My soul holds you

I’ve loaded them

I’ve filed them

I’ve torn them

I’ve revolved them

I’ve explored them

I’ve taken them

I’ve washed them

I’ve stirred them

I’ve whipped them

I’ve shot them

And they burn right through my photographs

And I’m nothing but lusts and grudges

They are beautiful and terrible to behold

I hold them

All tight to me

But there’s none I hold the way

My soul holds onto the image of you

Death of a personality cult leader

Some of Greville and the Tombstones works are simple alt-gothic romances, some trying to solidify alt-gothic fears into something understandable. Most are personal favourites of the band.

This one? This one, I'm not sure. I think this one will be benefiting from a writer's alt-gothic commentary.

But it is certainly a Greville and the Tombstones song.

So I really hope you like it!











This is our new track. This is:

Death of a Personality Cult Leader

Temperance is scraping the gristle,

Wooden spoon judders over gum flesh.

Eyes are brittle.

Hardened by all the things they’ve laid gaze upon.

But not insensitive enough not to notice how

Youth smoulders into something older,

Flat smoke dries the fruit,

An acrid shrove

Wear your robes of high grandeur,

Personality cult leader.

After all, it’s your skin.

Thread your gold letters too,

Sew them in.

Impress the chosen few.

You gargle with the blood of followers,

You bathe in freshly dug grave dirt.

My and my, and you’re pretty.

“Listen to how important I am with my noise!”

Give me attention!

The validation!

Appraiser of piety!

“I render those sick, and enjoy the withering!”

I exist, don't deny it!

Spent life in a temple to greatness.

Death is a box.

And this, don't doubt it!

A verdict on devoutness projected on a chamber wall!

A verdict against this personality cult laid gaze upon.

Not ever insensitive enough not to notice how:

Candles burn fast in a cold standing draft

Bitter warmth of the hollow,

And goddamn, you’re pretty

Greville's terror-ific party hits!

It is the season of Halloween, and everyone in their gothic mansions all over town are gathering together for parties. But what to put on the auto-side change tape deck in the 2nd reception room? Let the Greville Tombs' Alternative Spooky Party Mix Tape be your spirit DJ!

1. Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven. Read by Vincent Poe




2. The Season of the Witch, Donovan




3. You're a vampire, One Eyed Doll




4. Guilt, Those Poor Bastards




5. No Time, The Heavy




6.Crazy in Love (Fifty Shades), Beyoncé




7. Blank Space, Taylor Swift



8. Zombie, Jamie T.




9. Sympathy for the Devil, Guns n' Roses




17. Right Red Hand, Nick Cave and the Badseeds




10. Rachel Brooke, The Black Bird




11. Bones, The Killers




12. Setting Sun, The Chemical Brothers




13. Ava Adore, Smashing Pumpkins




14. Bela Lugosi's Dead (cover), CHVRCHES




15. Mogwai fear Satan (live), Mogwai




16. Hellhound on my Trail, Robert Johnson




17. She Wolf, Shakira




18. Souljacker Part II, The Eels

COMPUSERVE poem for a fibre optic person

Greville and the Tombstones are not known for the modern style, but this track has been heavily influenced by my reading of works of the young poets of these days. They are so damn cool and produce poetry with aching, razor titles.

Read some Clementine von Radics.

My belief is that this track by Greville and the Tombstones remains very much waiting for you at the alt-gothic crypt, so don’t worry. Greville and the Tombstones still travel to their gigs by black carriage. (#therearenogigs)

But... the whole lyric can be put in a “tweet”, or printed out on a t-shirt in Comic Sans on a very reasonable student budget to wear at lectures, and it would make a perfect tattoo to impress a sweetheart.

It’s a desperate plea to someone in a void of disconsolation.


It's titled:
COMPUSERVE poem for a fibre optic person

  NevR… do n’t go…

Eve N in the terrors

All will be well … B well

…;

Seven deadly sorrows

This the Greville and the Tombstones Led Zeppelin moment. The epic, mystic and puzzle of imagery. And like Zeppelin, this is a rock out number of sweat and head thrown back passion. But more like Greville and the Tombstones it should be imagined as a slow paced, slide guitar number, where the performer sways and occasionally stretches an arm out.

It is an attempt at the Sublime.

I hope the fans like it.

#thereisnoband
#therearefans

This is:
Seven Deadly Sorrows

With the chill of morning

Sorrow scented on the breeze

It razed my weary life

Like a sting

 

My heart holds the pain

Of seven deadly sorrows

It beats its wings of oil

Drips on me

 

The glimpsed blade

When love was crucified

The haunted arch

When nerves untied

The whetstone

When sharp faith had died

The poison court

When my guilty body tried

The monk’s rope

When my sin was hung

The wooden door

When my chorus sung

The shimmer girl

When my eyes were young

 

But still it didn’t help me

The preacher had condemned me

To seven deadly sorrows

Like a plague

 

My heart holds the pain

Of seven deadly sorrows

Each gaunt agony

Drips on me

 

The city like a cemetery

Undead all digging themselves

I see a girl, a coven of sorrows

I say "What's your name, Girl?"

Fixes me

She says "Seven Deadly Sorrows"

 

The sombre rook, the dreary spectre

The widow with her chain

The bound book and the divination rod

My medium, my mistress

She was seven deadly sorrows

And I met her on a morning

And no more

 

Life is a lonesome act

And I must die alone so soon

I won’t carry seven sorrows

But they’ll pass by my unkempt tomb

Unknown

And will not stir the bone

 

But it still didn’t help me

Words engraved will aye be

To seven deadly sorrows

Like a curse

 

My heart holds the pain

Of seven deadly sorrows

Tears of peacock ink

Drips on me

 

The crawling sunrise, silent cloister
Prayers all gone cold

Doomed echo cries down damned crypt

My nurse, my tormentor

She was seven deadly sorrows

And I met her on a morning

And no more

 

Round behind the church

In summer and in autumn time

The graveyard is so colourful

Seven shades of perfect deadly vines

Of sorrow

Wild do the flowers grow

 

And no more

And no more

My sorrow filled life

 

 

 

 

Monster

I began to write about melancholy, and I recognised parts of grief and then I saw sex take a shape as I kept writing.
These, in a way, are monsters.

In the end, I've no idea what monster I've incanted.

This is the Greville and the Tombstones song, Monster.

Monster

The stars have no will for me

I’ll not set on the

Moonbeam sea

As long as you lay beneath

Yeah, know this

As long as you are under me

I will struggle to slip

Constantly

Under receding tides

Manifest night, undulating me

It licks, blinds and

Chokes me

The scent of ash and lead

Yeah, you are this

Cut, apply the good lobotomy

Anguish, jagged dread

Leaves me

Under receding tides

Gasper of burning dust

Feeder of the moribund page

Sinkhole of

Atrophy

Black silk of the mind

My fucking destroyer

Delicate monster

Arcing, blossoming electricity

I’ll bide as I shiver

Uncontrollably

At dark storms in a bell-jar

Yeah, I know this

As long as you wrap ‘round me

Bones, flesh, skin will

Choke me

Under receding tides