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Wednesday, 17 September 2003

The Wire Tapper and creativity

As I write this I am listening to the double CD given away with an issue of 'The Wire' magazine last year, Wire Tapper 9. There is a new compilation CD due out next week with the latest issue of the magazine, so I thought I would revisit the most recent one.

There is such a huge and broad field of creativity out there - most of which never sees the light of day in the mainstream. The big record companies don't take risks (when did they ever?) so music like this struggles to find an audience and be heard. There are some amazing exceptions, like the London-based radio station 'Resonance FM' - but that is only available via London or the internet (which with dial up like mine is pretty hopeless). There are also a large number of websites offering free mp3 downloads to increase exposure of some of these acts. It is interesting that the big companies are trying to kill downloading because they see it damaging their profits, whereas more imaginative people are seeing mp3 downloading as a way of reaching an audience. I'm not advocating naïveté here, but wouldn't it be nice to see music being about creativity and expression, rather than business, cash flows and stock markets.

Well, it is the middle of November, and I start a new job at the beginning of next month. I'm looking forward to the challenge, the excitement and the chaos that will ensue.

Last weekend I went with the family to Paris where we dashed around various places, and went to Versailles for Gail's Graduation Ceremony. In spite of plane delays, car hire companies messing up, roads closed for the French President to pass through etc. it was great fun.

My own poetical voice seems to have gone for a prolonged walk at the moment - there are no words forthcoming. I guess I just need to shock the words onto the page again, write free and openly, and not for the finished form. The words can always be thrown away - no need to be precious about these things.

In the absence of new words, how about some older ones:

poem without title, yet
bright by echo of bright recall
there is nothing more

only the neatness brought about when we tidy as we go along
turning everything into some sort of song

then there is the won mind-set
no idea why!

then there was the loss of a consonant in a clever
smug sort of whatever

and finally we let it all go
pretend that nothing has happened

seal the secrets in a small envelope,
light a candle,

hold the secret over it
until it ignites, then let go and

watch the paper turn to blackened feather
light, and fragment, into the air

gone forever, burnt out of existence.

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