For Bridgette

I see you out the corner of my eye

a glance

a gesture

your hand gliding

your foot sliding

but as I play the song,

focused overwhelmingly on my fingers and my heartbeat

I cannot see the whole story

you are telling

yet

I know

that whatever narrative, or

whatever adventures your dance takes you on

I trust that

you step in the footprints of poetry

you spin on the breath of the song,

blue as the sky

blue as the night

and just the same

full of wild birds

and starlight

 

For Sarafina

even backstage, chilling with her man or chatting with her crew, she is a star,

she is full of warmth and light

we orbit about her

she whose smile rises from her eyes and covers everything she sees

You have to watch her eyes to really know what’s going on, you see, while you’re watching her, she’s looking out through those glimmering stars,

she’s peeking out from behind her veil

but get this...the veil hides nothing.

It’s a spotlight in her hand

it’s a trailing stream of living colour

accenting, outlining,

mapping the contours

and if for a moment your eyes cannot see every thing

the mind will conjure

the scenery,

the desert wind

the cascading leaves of autumn

the pouring rain of winter

the glimmering diamonds of sunlight in spring

her eyes…

... so full of warmth and light

we orbit around her,

she whose smile rises from the very earth beneath her feet,

making every part of her glow

lighting up the room

illuminating all our happiness

You have to watch her eyes to really know what’s going on, you see, while you’re watching her, she’s looking out through those glimmering stars...

 

For Tony

There is a trick to his smile, something in his mischievous curling moustache and the crinkling skin, so full of promise, winking at the corner of his eyes. There is a hidden energy inside his steady step and noble posture. Up the red stairs, I see him carrying his piano, his cajon, his tashigoto, his halo, this alchemist is a wandering warrior monk, capable of dancing and singing and clapping in divisive triple time, and all the while breathing his mathematic mantras, he maintains perfect balance.

During rehearsal in the bright day-lit studio, he sits astride his box drum, surrounded by technological marvels that, like cybernetic enhancements from some sci-fi dream, grant him a vast capacity for spontaneous poly-rhythmic melodies. Here at least, some of his mystery is revealed, for one cannot hide behind one's music, it reveals all of the unspoken parts of a person's story. His music is a portrait of a well travelled man, both in the realm of countries and people and places, but also in that vast and significant inner world that is a little more difficult to describe, yet equally adventurous to explore.

We see through our mind's eye into the world of imagination. We hear through our inner ear the songs of all creation. We feel through our flesh the truth of our feelings, and this man, this multi-cultural musical alchemist and dancer, speaks to us with an inner voice, with an inner language that we all hear, and we all understand. In defiance of the count of his years, he is lifted from within by a youthful buoyancy, and we who are graced to know him, we who are blessed to work and play with this living example of a modern international man of culture and intelligence and joy, cannot help but be lifted up with him, a little closer to the sun.

 

For Sarah (Her nature cannot be rushed)

Imagine her,

She dances slowly,

no,

slower than that,

internalise it

first, the heart must move, and then the body may follow the music, like the trees follow the wind, like flowers follow the sun, like the ocean follows the tide.

Slow,

no,

slower than that,

nature cannot rush.

Just like she cannot be rushed. The heart will not allow it. The music will not allow it. The night will not be pushed aside by the eager sun, just as the world tapping at the window will not bestir her from the ponderous precision of her turning heel, turning toe,

She perches upon a branch, a step, a stage,

a bird upon a twig,

a blade of grass,

a drop of water

upon

a petal

in the warm

summer

afternoon

slow,

no,

slower than that,

internalise it,

she turns like bird on the wing,

ruffling her feathers and floating upon the shadows beneath her,

She is silent

while her heart speaks through her body

like the wind speaks through the trees

like the moon speaks through the tides

Imagine her dancing,

slow,

no, slower than that,

her nature cannot be rushed.