the unknowable transforming point 56/60

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

On the keys

Sift soft sift softer sift soft
as is possible in the silences between the sounds
for once in three years of 44 days
absence and return
the unbelievable ugly professor cough
coughed into his hot milk and lunch lamb pastry
as the vision turned the delicate digestive others down
calling calling
three part and four part harmonies at ease
blond beige control of chromatic octaves and silvery trills
gave shivers
and inner sentimental tall stories of following me around
me room eyes hands so graceful and handsome
on the keys
off the keys
time tai chi-ing and descending
when can I get away up up the elevator
round identical corner
identical rooms
smoke smoke if you like
that was then
not no way now smoking the cool mentholated cigarettes

Zap zap

Ultimately clash of indifference simultaneously colliding
push push away
get our of here
must get out of this store
zap zap not infrequently
no such thing when pianos were mysteriously waiting
to play my tune sonatas frisk ficfuc and concerto movements
best left to themselves
no such thing as channel four
what did we have for breakfast
if we were lucky
one slice of plain bread toast
rushed for the bus
be late be late
now rushing by the slippery pavement
and quiet seat in the electric bus
by the time I got there
friends and far too music much to do
and in tandem follow in gregorian
for the histoire de la musique
funny face man all goatee beard
and surreal performances of clarity
on the music of the baroque
2 hours two hours
then alight and be somewhere
be sounds
from the organ loft Listz
double bass in the stairwell
and forlorn too busy to think really

She was suicidal

Suicidal mother medication and the dust and noise of the city
trams shrieked at intervals at the top of the hill
still echoes now
sitting on a level
staring at a wall
inside my drama shelling out
walk out with the soft spring rain
and the caller hung up on me
that’s what it’s like
when I called
she was suicidal
can’t bear
keep my cool
didn’t want to phone but had to
that little wooden kiosk on the stair took my pennies
she not here
unravel unravelling zero absolute
for the last time and take responsibility
but then it all felt like it fell to bits
indefinable uncertainty
and crushing embarrassment
of oh no oh no dear
it is like what it’s like
it’s present but don’t expect a solution
quick under the piano
before the bomb hits and the machine rusts


There’s no adieux for les garcons comme
come with the rest of us
to the land of one of these days
ficfuc it can’t be true
you can’t be serious my dear so soon
then there was the isle joyeux
cut a transcription for two cellos
will deconstruct the deconstruction
the art of europe is worse than inksmell
but to just get on with it
pin it together
pin it
we go back to the shout
the was never if ever heard in recurrent dream
it never happened later

If the piano

Just then open mouth and no sound came
and mute muted
must be like this for the old lady with dementia
terrifying music under the piano
safely settled down and tucked in
young thing curled underneath the piano with the cat
sung sigh and quiet whisker sorrowful songs
and when I play for real
not the improvising gush rush
it presents me with a myriad of quandries
which sounds where
why phrasing
tune how loud
now soft
which fingering
changes of emphasis
balance of hands
parts sonorities
tone tempo
soft pedal
and loud in dynamics
the music
lid open or closed and all that
if the piano not in tune



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