Crackles to Life

Under years of dust, at the back of the garage,

next to the old wardrobe that now holds garden tools,

on top of cardboard boxes packed full of things that are

no longer useful but too good to throw away,

rests the old record player.

 

I pull it from the mess of bits of bicycles & old picnic baskets,

peel a record from its musty sleeve

& it crackles back to life sending out forgotten analogue signals,

cutting through time at 33 RPM.

 

Now I’m talking ‘bout my generation[i],

Carnabetian[ii] dreams & satanic sympathies.

Poet punk psychedelic stereophonic shamen

carry me back to days of innocence & ignorant abandon.

The songs have remained the same[iii], but the years have moved on,

the doors may not be cleansed but the possibilities are still infinite.

 

So the scientifically precise mp3 player bloated with all its bits of data

can wait until I’m back in my car driving to work.

 

For now, I sit in the back of the garage,

in the chair we had in the living room before the one we have now,

I sneak a cigarette so the kids don’t catch me,

drop the needle, spin the black circle[iv]

& float back to a life that has been stored,

no longer useful but too good to throw away.

 


[i] Towshend, Peter. I’m talking ‘bout my generation. “My Generation”. My Generation. Record. Brunswick 05944. 1965.

[ii] Davies, Ray. Carnabetian. “Dedicated Follower of Fashion”. Single. Record. Pye 7N 17064. 1966.

[iii] Page, Jimmy & Plant, Robert. The songs have remained the same. “The Song Remains the Same”. Houses of the Holy. Record. Atlantic. 1973.

[iv] Vedder, Eddie. Spin the black circle. “Spin the Black Circle”, Vitalogy, Record, CD, Epic, 1994


Published in The Interpreter’s House Issue 63 (October, 2016)

Published in The Frequency of God, Close-Up Books (December, 2017)

 

In the Context of an Infinite Universe There is No Cause for Concern

On a tiny planet hanging on to the edge of a galaxy

a million people drive a million cars

along a million tarmac paths.

 

The planet spins under mysterious forces that were

hypothesised by some scientists a lifetime ago,

hell bent on creating their own gods.

 

Seasons follow seasons until no season changes.

Children inherit the debts of their parents.

No parent is perfect & no child will change.

 

The tiny planet hanging on to the edge will slip,

or rather all the people will simply cease to exist,

and the galaxy will correct for any imbalance.

 

On a tiny planet hanging on to the edge of a galaxy

humans, a blip in the timeline of an infinite universe,

will fail to register any impact.

Sydney Harbour, Monday, 9 January 2017 11:00

Sydney Harbour Bridge

 

Sydney Opera House

 

Taken with a Samsung Galaxy S7

equivalent to f/1.7, 1/3432s, ISO:40

Processed in Picasa