Wednesday, 19 October 2011

Moved by Bach

Last night with my music teacher, Rebecca, she had scored the music we had created together from my singing of one of my poems ‘Where are you?’ Rebecca sang it and accompanied herself on piano. I was amazed and dead impressed it seemed ages since I had written the poem and first sung it. All I need now is to persuade my daughter to sing it and we can record it for Youtube. It is a lament and sounds quite Celtic.

It was time for me to begin to learn a new tune on the piano. Rebecca suggested J. S. Bach prelude No 1 and as ever played it through for me. I was moved to tears. It is like having your own concert. ‘Where did music that come from’ I wondered.

Then it was time for me to begin to learn to play. Oh it was pure magic, it sounded so good. I think Rebecca was adding some petal work but it sounded so good. It is a beautiful piano she has. I just wept and wept. I could not believe such beauty could come through me. ‘I don’t do beauty’ I told her between sobs.

You might think this is soft, soppy, naff but it is me. I could help it but I don’t want to.

Monday, 10 October 2011

Crossing borders - poem

Crossing borders

It’s nineteen sixty nine
And I’m still a teenager
Walking down Deansgate
Excited by my life in the big city
My new girl friend is on my arm
(Just like on the Bob Dylan album cover)
She’s an anarchist and Jewish and pretty
And we are head over heels in love
Like John and Yoko.

Suddenly she flees
Into a shop doorway
And hides away
‘What are you doing?’
‘Friend of the family –
I can’t be seen with you.’
‘Fuck but I’m a good guy.’
‘It doesn’t matter
You are not Jewish.’

And the trouble starts
Word gets out
And it messes up
Her elder sister’s arrange marriage.

She moves in with me
Into a tiny bedsit
But we are too young
To live alone and unsupported
And she misses home
And our love fades
And she moves on
And I feel like my life’s over.

But time passes
And the trees in Alexander Park
Lift my spirits
And I move on

I last see her in nineteen seventy two
And she’s not right
Living at home
She says ‘It’s OK.’
But I look at her face
And I know it’s not.