Above my cradle loomed the bookcase where/ Latin ashes and the dust of Greece/ mingled with novels, history, and verse/ in one dark Babel. I was folio-high/ when I first heard the voices.
It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.
Popular music is slowly being laid to rest in every conceivable way... the ashes are already about us if we could but notice them.
For example, because I'm a lapsed geologist, I followed the eruption of Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull in 2010 in great detail, amassing a huge number of links to news articles, blog posts, scientific papers, web cams, video and photos. That archive came to the attention of Chatham House, and they then commissioned me to research the way in which the media responded to the ash cloud crisis. I think that's the only time that my degree and my career have fully intersected, and it really was a lovely moment!
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