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My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.

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The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. 3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

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Our experienced hosts will ensure that everyone who joins us will have an enjoyable night out. 19 February 2006; 9 December 2006; 7 July 2007; 15 July 2007; 5 January 2008; 3 August 2008; 15 February 2009; 1 September 2009; 1 February 2010; 12 February 2010; 14 August 2010; 15 February 2011; 23 June 2011; ; 30 January 2013; 29 December 2013; 3 January 2014; 1 February 2015; 31 January 2016; 15 September 2016.There is no other music like the toneless music of millions of years of accumulated silence, through which come bars of unearthly colours. American author and history professor Stephen Pyne argues that traditional fiction could not find enough material in the Antarctic experience or the Antarctic environment to construct typical novels.There is no need for ears to hear the fugues played on this ice organ. The range of potential experiences was much smaller than elsewhere, the opportunity for surprise much less.Here nature has set aside for man a domain of beauty and inspiration such as he cannot know elsewhere on this planet. Modernist literature was more inclined to follow Joseph Conrad into the Heart of Darkness than to pursue Robert Scott into the Antarctics Heart of Whiteness.The classical repertoire appears to be minimal and it is the pop artists who have been making more Antarctic musical noises, in some cases literally.