the unknowable transforming point 66/ 70

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Where’s my piano

Real life little dramas
where’s my piano
she plays piano you know
not yet
I was only seven or eight
little worrier
where the hell are we going
long train three days
rock rick rock on lines
and direct line to nowhere
suddenly it’s hot and hard in the sunlit carriages
alps and passengers catch my eye
we’re not really there
and must be another one hundred miles
and did anyone know where everything was
nevertheless notwithstanding asleep asleep most of the way
this was stopping and starting round the mountains
tracks and tracks of old new and ancient fir forest
fir forest ficfuc ficfuc

Dazed and subdued

By the time we go to where we were going
we were dazed and subdued
what’s this all about
greeted by more and more heat and warm allegrettos from people
that made all the sounds and noddings expected
then asleep in strange beds
smells and didn’t know what was so exceptional about that
but new shoes and posh dresses
made to fit the occasions hand stitched and impressive
for of all things
had to see what she had to see
old lady nice with fat ankles and soft silly eyes
her daughter giuliana so lovely moustache
and I think it was them with the fierce dog
it bit
it bit through the skin
provoked by god if only I could remember
but the next time
I saw them years later when I was a pianist
I was gifted a copy chopin b flat minor
scherzo michelangeli
for me the only way to play
such was the rallentando at the point
that point da da da da da
lovely cherished little vinyl disk at 45
and that was the last time I ever saw them
and wrought iron gate big house still there
googled already

Two long sonatas

Ampersand inksmell
but in the end it was to be a disastrous year
after years trains long and short
as feet stamped tantrum
I’m not going back she spat
off off off
and it all fell down
no piano for two months
had to play
worry worry boring summer heat heat
watch it
two long sonatas
one to memorise
worry worry no time to prep
straight into last mile
whether or no
busk busk worry worry fret fret

One friday night

Then he walked out one friday night you know
sit there watch look
and numb and dazed at what’s going on
it silently crushed every what
what’s going went on
happened
what on earth was she thinking
go let him go
why did nobody say
excuse me but where are you going
where do you think
think
or
your going nowhere
why are you throwing my father out
what’s wrong with him
what sort of
or what
why
what’s happening
what about us
what about what
what about me
why not say
my dreams open mouthing sound terror terrorised me for years
ago years now

I’m off

In realtime friday night you know
going up to town
i’m off i’m off off off off off
falling falling hold onto pull pin myself
light a cigarette menthol console comfort
beethoven les adieux piano party piece
panic panic worry worry
too scared to speak
too scared too terrorised by that I’m off
no sounds
why now why why why
what happened next
did she turn to us
perhaps explain the reason
and resonance
plunged into some dark phase phrases like I’m drowning
telephone phoning friend
phoning hours and hours on the line to her
just ignore everything else
get out of here
don’t be a failure
bottle of whisky
next uncle richard making chips
where did he appear from perchance
you know how you just don’t join things up when your young
me piano me
piano cello piano
day after days
3 hours travelling
practise practise
tip of dead cigarettes
the journey sleeping with my piano
non one wanted things to be
might as well be totally catapulted
capsized
unbearable winter seasons
how no
how long smile
my dad must have missed me but the times
the times were frosty snow on the ground
winter coats and very pinned together
in case we cracked
yet the cracks were quietly
silently 4’33”
now that’s a measurement of it’s own
open openings
till it was to reach magnetic proportions in seventeen years
when the split spilt itself over
go figure
had to be dealt with
now tell me about it
the rush to be never there was a speciality
and severing the connection of this that reality
is like cutting nothing in thin air that’s invisible
and swish sound in the weather
if there was to be a figment fragmentary acknowledgement
the game would be up
if according to her game
that was a move you had decided not to make years ago
in times of terror and bombs

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Author: LindyK

Composer/ Pianist/ Writer www.virginiaaurorascott.co.uk

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