THIS production is more than the glory of Govan, it is the glory of

the ordinary people of a city -- this city, any city. Initial unease at

the concept of a show written by Govanites in writers' workshops, and

performed by professional actors with professional direction was quickly

banished.

Here were real people, talking about real lives and real stories. Not

a sentimental glorification of the working class in times past, but a

here and now, diverse pageant of the culture of today. The effect was

rather like having a grandstand view of the lives of individual families

up a tenement close. There was the worry of redundancy, the poignancy of

adolescent love, sublimated racial tension, drug addiction and, rippling

like quicksilver through it all, humour -- sometimes for its own sake,

sometimes as the only palliative in a black world.

The writing is superb, and varied: from Maureen Ferguson's The Glory

Of Govan Rap which jump-starts the whole affair, to the sheer poetry of

Money for Dirt by James Miller. All of it has that rare distinctive

hallmark of the genuine; experience at once coerced into and liberated

by the bars of language.

As for the performances which brought these lives to life -- well, at

times it was difficult to remember that the actors were actors playing

parts. I even overheard one old woman in the audience say to a friend:

''Ah'll need tae ask her tae have a wee word wi ma Maureen -- she'll no

listen tae me.''

A great deal of bunkum is spouted and written about the arts and

community, and community art. 7:84, with this production, has made

something which is both art and community, and like the people of Govan,

more than able to speak for itself.