Do you remember the days of slavery?

I had been looking forward to last Saturday's event organised by the Manchester Literature Festival. Held in the Great Hall at Manchester's wonderful Town Hall, designed by Alfred Waterhouse, we were surrounded by Ford Madox Brown's Manchester Murals, illustrating the rich past of the city. Behind the stage was the mural showing the arrival of the Flemish weavers in the 14th century. My aunt thinks that's how our family came to the area, generations of involvement in textile production in a particular area of Lancashire, with an unusual surname tied to that location. Whether that's true or not, I am keenly aware of my Manchester connections now I am working there again.

Lemn Sissay, a local poet with an international reputation, was booked to perform his poetry written in response to Martin Luther King's ' I have a dream' speech. Manchester Camerata were providing the musical part of the evening, playing Beethoven's String Quartet No. 13 in B flat, Op.130. It was passionate music, exploring the relationship between instruments and musicians through an emotional conversation. Sometimes it was unbearably melancholy, but then the sadness was transformed to hopefulness. I wondered why the piece had been chosen to accompany Lemn Sissay's poetry. With his powerful and raw performance, with his references to Manchester, the Reno, the Hacienda, and even John Cooper Clarke, I could imagine the music of Gil Scott-Heron, Culture, Burning Spear or the early Wailers forming a soundtrack to the themes of fear and slavery days, recovery and belonging. It soon became clear that the music echoed his themes as many worlds wove and spun in that Great Hall, Ethiopia and Germany,the Deep South and Manchester. North and South, truth and lies, healing and reconciliation. Rivers of blood in the DNA echoing Enoch Powell's infamous speech.The fierce love of the mother, holding her child under water to protect it from the slave owner's vicious dogs. I wondered how easy it was to live each day as a poet. Can you be so passionate, philosophical and above all raw and not be damaged by it? Or is the poetry the very thing that heals the damage? It's an intense way to be. Poetry can short circuit a soul connection. Where do I belong? I was reminded of my family connection to Lancashire though I wasn't born there. I'd spent the day rediscovering an area of Manchester, its trees and autumn scents, red brick and heritage architecture, which is going to be my mid week base for a few winter months.

I'd been reading Mike Scott's Adventures of a Waterboy, dreaming of the West of Ireland where many of my family came from. I'd travelled on a bus with a young man who looked and acted like an Arabian prince in a turban and djellaba , but with a Mancunian wife and shopping trolley to test his exotic image. Manchester continues to transport me back to Casablanca when I least expect it. I felt I belonged there too but I can't trace that connection through my own rivers of blood. Music and poetry make the same connections. Sissay is a truth sayer, a soothsayer, a preacher and a soul singer. Beethoven faced down his own demons. Transformation was in the air. The Great Hall has absorbed something into its fabric, its stone and marble. Earth, fire, air and water. It was elemental. There had been a thunderstorm and a double rainbow over Manchester. A full moon was on the rise. Once upon a time these would have been considered signs and portents. Saturday night lived up to that promise.