It was in a waterfront bar in Marseilles that I wrote the lyrics to Moby Dick. To be more specific, it was at the small bar attached to a brasserie. John Bonham was a semi-regular while I was a regular.
At first he was not pleased. “Why are you writing the lyrics to Moby Dick?” he asked. He wanted to know this. But soon John started to get in the spirit, humming them softly as I tapped out the drumming on the smooth, zinc bar.
The waiters were a close-knit bunch, men in their fifties who had worked at the brasserie together for two decades. In the autumn they would go for a weekend of grouse hunting in the hills of Provence, humming, in the car, the lyrics to Moby Dick, tapping out the drumming.
Joseph Leff has been published in various journals, anthologies, and newspapers including The Adirondack Review, Confrontation, The New York Times, Paradigm, Snow Monkey, and 11211. He lives in Santa Monica, CA.