A Divine act

Everybody knows it’s almost time

as sound men make their final checks

and wheel the baby grand 

sleek, black – poised

to centre stage, amid background bubbling

of expectant, festival-soaked chatter

flavoured with paint and crochet,

chips, cheap beer and marinated words


A hat and a pint

of Guinness and cheers as the stage

claims its prize – all eyes

trained on the waif-like, mesmerising figure

as memories float unseen but thought,

half-thought, a quarter…

whizzing like electrons as he twizzles the piano

stool and sits – fingers flexed


The crowd does not ignite

as the baby swallows sound,

keys dribbling notes

which fall short and trickle through conversation,

teasing – pleasing only when the riffs

of guitar restore the Stendhal syndrome

and sound reclaims the tent,

underfoot a percussion of plastic cups and mud and butts


‘One more tune, one more tune, one more tune’

they hook him back after the woodshed

national express – you know that ‘no’

means yes – berate the sound team

shout the words and clap the beats,

circumnavigate six-footers and snap

a pale portrait – eyes smudged pink underneath

appreciative, applauded,

appalled, a professional

a divine act.


(Just a little poetic memento from the Stendhal Festival which I thought I would share.)

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s