Variations on a Theme
Right you are
If you think you are!
And so are we all,
Poet and painter,
Et al, et al,
And so we all
When we play upon
The fervent blue guitar.
When we think we know we are,
We say upon and we know thereon
Magic, in the bracing quite amazing music of
This ardent blue guitar that we are.
Thus, were we by blazing harmonies to ourselves formed
And forming are, deeply thus,
So too sing the agile and sage
Wily Luigi and Wallace.
We are the precise players of the all
Things near and far,
Feeling, hearing and
Healing things as
They really were and are
On the pluperfect blue guitar.
We, pray-ers some and players all, are
The colors, voices,
Fine word choices,
The strummers, drummers,
Blowers and bowers,
Sounders of the
Pipe and bell,
The horn and cymbal,
Et al, et al,
And wondrous all.
Bold, bright, young and old generations
Born and tested in solitary sadness,
We are tempered by the poetry of strong passions
To a steely soft gladness.
Anointed with the music of compelling waters,
Some might say by dour salvations,
We conjure light and mystery anyway
From uncommon fascinations.
Our private visions master things, complete,
Perhaps lieless, or if only nearly neat,
At least artfully guileless.
They shape us in a steady warming caress
To celebrate the true as well as we can view it,
To toast it all with a sprightly tune
And a blessed jigger or two of
Dulcet Johnian madness.
We are the prolific ones, the ingenious
Bell tones, the deep and high
Forever light in your eye tones,
The sweet and wry always
Spring budding here comes mud in your eye tones,
The all and et al tonalities
And all those easing tunes that please of
The ruddy-tinged, rugged blue guitar.
You and I are the wizard variations on a journeyman theme,
We are whitewater voyagers,
The maestros of vital rhythms,
Plucking the currents and crossflows,
Plunging headlong, deftly probing
Where the river of invention
Quickens and grows, carving
We chant our verbal music
And mental melodies,
Harnessing us in a
Gripping poly-metered ride
Over smooth and roiling rios.
We are brawny, steadfast oarsmen plying
Rainbowed water and air, oaring
Con brios making whoopee strumming
The strands of driven waters, singing
On a quicksilver glide down
That long-branched ultimate stream,
Diving, rising and diving again,
Culling a sack of songs and dreams
Story-filled for story-made
Symbols in small and tall yarns,
Vivid fictions all woven with
A handful of nimble schemes.
You and I are
The singing me and you guitar,
The dancing skip to my lou guitar,
The always new and ever old
Blood in the majestic blue guitar.
We are perched immutably on the crest of
A holy, crimson, humble
And hubristled fantastarealytistic ride,
A dogged in and out, up, down and around tide of spirit
Flowing in a medley of the music of all our years,
The sacred songs of all our spheres.
If you listen well, you will hear it,
Bar by bar as it is played on
The one and only blue guitar,
On cue, the way we knew it would
Sound and fade and be played again by us
In our own special calculus,
With our own voluptuous touch on
This bloody, rugged blue guitar that