the unknowable transforming point 421/425

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Be strong

At about this time of early eve
it is important to stay still
be still in the automatic
go piano go into the yellow ficfuc
hold on to your construction
and not to roll out any red carpets
it’s impossible anyway
let’s just play something soothing
but the pianos were just recovering
from a particularly difficult lesson on the art of europe
the arrangement still needed some overhauling
and back to the future amendments with softlence
closed thinking over ridden grey scottish moody clouds now
there art in a cool breeze
there the ton kunst
fill your grape tone gel
there can be earthquakes in places when you sit
there this overpowering strangeness from deep earth
swing lampshades creaks
and furniture imperceptibly moving deep earth
but still you hear it years on
in thankfully strong buildings
quake over minim crotchet find
your analysis pinned to the back of your head
in reality the trick’s to be strong in your own way
importance of looking seeing feeling
listening at the back of your mind
the unhindered coiling recoiling
the inner chink
your own independence
free encoiled enchorded encoded
encrusted in memorial
patriarchal festoons of dangerous escalators of tall stories
don’t look into there
it will only draw you into her day
was she drawing you into her time lapse apostrophed galantine
something she made earlier
much earlier in time shared with echoes from past inoperations
I was sound dead for a long time
running on the thirteen per cent
the rest volcano hiss steam hiss
the better to work on giantess cancrizanz for tune
it was fortunate to discover
how the backward thinking translates into song height activity
the dot is the moment of contact with the piano piano keys
and it’s feeling of the piano key
stay look the dreamy lindy still at the score
trying to work out the feeling of the langourous leaps

Thin line inhumanity

Inter city slow train
six people gaze out cooked and bored on a scorching afternoon
down the barriers there could have been a barrier
and then the midpoint arrives and departs
watch out the fat lady might be getting her voice back
her real voice or the voice in her voice # lindy
the voice of power or the voice of anxious curiosity # the psychotherapist
sipping red wine uncertainty
leaving it the way he found it
across the auschwitz impossibility place of survivors children
and feelings apocalyptic
thin line inhumanity
4tett for the end of time
cello climb reach voice full
and hear it right there
end of lighting cigarettes
a calming little ritual
bad for the the voice
which voice # lindy
the throat or head
ssh the voice in my head is thinking and transplanting
transporting my pen further and further
across distances parks or vistas to view as you go
like what for example # lindy
a ravine
no no for ficfuc sake
leave the ravines out of the ravel or unravelling
don’t look now
these two old friends are travelling through landscapes
yeah ok ok give me a minute # lindy

Snails pace satie

The room as quiet
as she sat down at the older of the two pianos
rummaging through the music collections
of this and that
and the other composers
most of the big works
and some others
then breathe in breathe out
and struck some dissonant diverting rarities
before settling down to snails pace satie
the professor back to the picture window
sank
he sank down in the imac hole
and entered the nevers
whiling away the third attempt at the coffee and cake
north of his hand reach
walkers passed by the two small windows
attempting a slow inward glance
as the music’s motion ebbed flowed
frequently attracting some of the heading towards figments thoughtless
they may or may not have started to think
what is that something
or other bypassing volcanos
as often as not
round the peripheral glimpse
through the small window
a graceful ascend and descend of piano hands
could silhouettedly be visioned
the hands graceful muscular
musculature sinking gently over one key and the others
till well in her imagination
she could see the wolf lying sleeping
grey strong fur and blinky eyes
ear flicking in silence
not the now hugely academically rationalised mythologised fictional 4’33 one
but the real silence of the peaceful mind
when the voices themselves
wander off balancing acts
of preposterously anxious curiosity on their heads as they go
like a little band of strangers than fiction

Thoughtlets

Grip sun of the next door over furniture
in the window green wall slats reflect
double little window on the left partially open
glass bowl reading time and watching the interim
go car go up the road swooshy past the windows
sanity by and by another down go
now quiet some engines
white paint
naw
paint
naw
and the next day no piano room
invention break in somewhere else
the picture window empty
no room for the imagination imprint
when it crazes erratically
easier to grip the microscope thoughtlets
incriminating keys and modulations under the sky scape
I bet the view is different today though
as little moan voices walk past the bay window
sweep across the photographic shadow bird
shadows red brick wall intermezzo vehicle
shall we move to another venue
let’s remain alfresco though
the veranda rusted and unpainted
displaying various layers
interesting shades of rotting broken chair
down down in the basement pianos
in varying stages of ancient abandon
once tuned and lit by candles
and fast finger little figures amongst the other detours
withheld phone numbers boxes
keys ebony and no message left
this room is empty
the pianos make shadows on the floral carpet
probably turkish
the dust floats on sunbeams and rests silvery at the end of it’s flight
keys black and white to be feather dusted off
at next tick of one of the clocks or metronome
mark beat time
if the keys
if the photography
if the imagination running on empty
if the arrival over water
if the departure over daylight
faster than what took you so long when she was 3
if the answer in the verandah rust patterned tubular porosis
was positive
then the evening chat at the little rotting table
could become as regular say every thursday
but there is never anyone on the verandah
on it’s narrowness like an after dinner mint
it’s wafer like slates externally interconnecting to steel girder
rust of layers between that and the rest
there was a view till forested with trees that I liked
when still in their pots rooting ravenously downhill
folding track smell and now a leafy glade
nearly to the river path trail even

Shot as the blue sky

She was at the throat in a kindly way
interpolating
but ahead of it this time
tracking synaesthesia abrasions for all it was worth
the piano resting in hums
far from inter city line’s hoot train up to another little town
with only two or three passengers
packed and reading
destination hot summer far behind
air shift still quiet in the picture window
as sea gulls swarm encircling round up high air
just there over in the hills
the someone who is no longer there
moved on an island
kiss to the the coast shore
unlandlocking ampersands and familiar figures
shot as the blue sky
still burns at the rust
pleased to leave the instruments in parenthesis
while radio frequencies pulse travel collide
unnoticed by most
intolerable to some
ring modulators andante
look into the piano room
from one of the two little windows
see the professor’s illuminated face concerned contraction
filing reports
food for database
infill
data fill
cloud fill
method quiet whir of ancient tower
and soft bell upload complete

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Author: Vv

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

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