1424
piano blues
to the memory of Bartolomeo Cristofori
pebbles in
a stream
now done
a conjuring
of skies
skulls full
of spare teeth
police won’t
find
I’ve hidden
one foot of the well
in the
drought
see the
daylit stars
all twinkle
to find a
tune
and in
among the idea shining –
just a few
bars –
this little
thing I thought up
*
everyone’s
getting rid of pianos
they’re
breaking them up for firewood
they’re
taking them to the tip
clearly a
piano’s an embarrassment
who’d be
caught with one?
crushed under,
dusting?
the ivory,
the ebony
hordes of
crime stored in the keys
and all
those strings – too many!
a piano’s
overdone
everyone’s
getting rid of pianos
they’re not
turning them into rafts
or gardens
they’re not
even letting them rot where they are
they’re
tossing them over cliffs
will a
piano dead-cat bounce?
who doesn’t
need some tuning?
they’re
burning pianos on a great pyre
stand clear
when the strings go – tension released
around
which once – Gershwin, Jerry Lee and Little Richard
piano smoke
to cure a guitar
perverse
the age we’re in
in a
graveyard where pianos shift
some nights
stuck on the black keys for soul
weeks alone
with the white
Bill Evans,
Chick Corea, Oscar Petersen
have helped
us all from day to dream
Keith
Jarrett on a loop
and echoing
now a
coffin full of string
they’ve
fallen far from concert pitch
but still
hold a tune
or the
promise
long
neglected notes
so sombre
shrill
down to the
left
where
nobody plays
or up in
the clouds
dogs hear
Rachmaninoff
is typing a memoir
Satie made
a little pile in his flat
he died to
break your heart
absinthe!
leapt at it
like a madman
the piano
drove him to that
that long
long smile – a taunt
can’t carry
such things to the crossroads
the devil comes
to you
it was an
attack of the Stravinskies
they turn
your lounge into a parlour
soon it
will be salon
what when the
music stops?
people have
been killed by them falling
pianos have
been played to death
and still
they would not die
swansongs
and terror
a bomb has
been planted in the piano
imagine
buying such a thing in parts
same as
with your car
everyone’s
getting rid of pianos
they’re
breaking them up for firewood
they’re
taking them to the tip
here’s the
romance of the thing
I sleep on
the lid of a baby grand
to keep the
vampires in
pianolas just
for tonnage, for hernia
it’s the
whole day golden
Liberace,
Chopin, moonlight, Fats
and Chico
most of all
Chico
points the way
mysteries in
timber
did you
notice
the piano’s
been taken away?
here’s a
Jimmy Durante smile
now we can
vacuum that corner
see colour
the carpet was
Rick
Wakeman
and spooky
in fugues
Bach’s at
home
we’re still
inventing
all the
children play
on facebook
see them every day
and not a
note of tragedy
it’s all
very matter-of-fact
‘plays well’
or ‘suit beginner’
everyone’s
getting rid of pianos
they’re
breaking them up for firewood
they’re
taking them to the tip
in a few
years they’ll be waking up
along with
the tribes, tongues, all kinds of creature
say – where
did that great axe go?
set a
highball up on the 88
slide over
to me in the polish
I slip
the past
may be over
I don’t
care
see all of
heaven reflected
ghosts
gather nowhere in the night
but here’s
a little singalong
in winter a
dram
here’s your
fire
in a
heatwave
fountain
and stream
really, if
I lived in the desert
I’d take
them all in
little tinkle
would do for my rain
*
thing I
thought up
one foot well
hidden
in the
drought
pebbles in
a stream gone
now a
conjuring of skies
skulls full
of spare teeth
detectives
will never find
and in
among the idea shining
look up
see the
daylit stars
all twinkling
for a tune
