Dedicated to You, That Can No Longer Listen
for Keith Tippett
Mutton chop warrior, Pianist
Bristolian brother to the note
of the complacent shake of the 12-bar boogie
Mild mannered shuffler in old tweed,
beyond fashion, compromise
or clique, old boy connection.
Master of the whip of sound
conjurer of unknown shape, combination
seeder of the invisible republic of love
colony of the inner ear, the people’s future music.
Nothing written, staged, each moment unique
in otherness, humility of being
to lay himself at the foot of a beauty,
a gateway in
fingers moving beyond sight
last year’s footwear pressed though the pedals
onto a pathway through the garden of ourselves
out, into August air.