Things to forget and not.



Fading in his ear, the beep of a cardiac monitor,

the last machine that would amplify him.

Racing then slowing,

locked in a rhythm he couldn’t control

while millions of hearts still pumped to the beats he had set.

There’s alot he would want the world to forget


but the music survives,

this soundtrack to our lives.

From Detroit to Durban,

Dhakar to Durham,

from a musician of fusion

and confusion


Disco, rock, soul,pop,

making the tribal division of dances stop

himself the incomplete reflection

of his reach for musical perfection

 a blending,

an extending.

Flowing across boundaries,

is dangerous,


new ways of hearing,

new ways of seeing.


He’s in the photo albums of our lives too,

this  boy who didn’t predict the man.

slowly chiselling himself away,

disappearing in a light display,

revealed in a mask,

and the questions the world had to ask.

We saw him in the black glasses,

the ambulance and the white shroud.


Is the picture as clear

as the music is loud?


Should we separate music from the maker,

make it our own,

translate the universal language

of the tambourine or the trombone

into rhythms that move us

in blood and in bone?


Kate Fox.


(I thought I’d compromised quite alot there when I agreed to rewrite “more about the music”…but having read Maya Angelou’s words I feel much better…)


July 7, 2009. Uncategorized.

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