YESTERDAY'S MUSIC TODAY
for Mike

Now, when I think of my favourite albums
I don't need to play them, know them too well,
can recall excerpts in my head. I don't want
noise or sound to interrupt my day, prefer
libraries of possibilities, memories lined up:
the past shelved in tattered record sleeves.

Couldn't find one particular LP this morning -
filing gone awry - so sat in the sun and let music
hang in the dust by the window, wondering where
that record has got to, imagining torn corners,
pops & scratches in the grooves, my small signature
scrawled on the back; yesterday's music today.

    © Rupert M Loydell





LONG PLAYER
for Rupert
 
Vinyl spiralling back into memories, black in the pain
spun at the time by its sound, the ache then in some
bliss of discovery and now a pang of how far ago -
these records both played and chronicle in one
long line. Covers too delight and hurt in recalling:
outer, inner, gatefold, and almost origami in trying to
go beyond; how the liner notes tell stories about creating,
influence, histories - and writers wrapped up in their
own words to spin out of control. Always the music
pulling you back into the one true groove. I will
forever want their noise reminding me, the vicarious
haunt or a new thrill, and silences are interruptions
that need filling, the circle on a turntable to round
upon itself again and again in a constant of sound.

    © Mike Ferguson