Wondermentalist

I did a gig with Drew Dellinger recently. I won’t say much about it except it was great, I really enjoyed his stuff – very different from mine. We were complementary, I like to think. So that’s what I’ll think.

What’s great is you can hear Drew’s performance that night on a podcast from Wonderful Radio www.wndfl.com and you can hear mine, too. Right…. here.

If you’re a glutton for nourishment then you can access the 10-minute interview I did with Drew just before the gig by clicking the word clickydrewspeakmattyview – an embarrassing word but quite effective as a linky web portal.

Finally, having listened to the interview as I’m convinced you almost possibly will, I expect you’ll be exactly half-intrigued to read the poem – The Dance of Dust – he inspired me to perform. It’s a poem I hardly ever, ever perform, one I only brought out once, I think, when I was asked to do something with a rock band. (Which was a fantastic experience by the way, like piloting a space shuttle with your voice, or wearing an incredibly loud rucksack.)

You’ll also have to admit that the way Drew rose to the occasion read The Thousand Stringed Instrument by Hafiz when asked right out of the blue, was just excellent. The biz.

This is the Dance of Dust – I said sheepishly at the time that I wasn’t sure if it was a rap. Afterwards Drew’s son Israel generously told me that it was. I was dead chuffed.

 

I was fretting I was fussing I was down I was out

I was saying to myself: What is it all about?

I was flatulent and miserable and very very quizzical

My misery was risible and slightly metaphysical

                        I was anxious…

 

I said: “Am I an Emanation of the Universal Essence

Or a futile drop of consciousness with built-in obsolescence?

            Am I a thought that thinks itself, or somebody’s dream?

            Am I accidental, am I more than I seem?

Am I a stitch in some enormous intricate design?

Am I destined to unravel – could you give me a sign?

            Is Life with a capital ‘L’ really real?

            Am I what I think I am or just what I feel?

Is my body just a channel, sort of like a windsock?

Do we go out of the frying pan into the wok?

                        Or what?

 

And then a voice came up from under a stone

It said, “Back off, boy, you leave these questions alone

            Your ideas lack thrust. They’re not life-enhancing

            What you are is dust, and what you’re doing is dancing

But I said: “Hold your horses, Invisible Voice

I know my rights. There’s got to be a choice.”

A dance of dust, that’s a bitter pill,

But I don’t have to swallow it – where’s my free will?

            It said, “Boy, there’s not much you can do,

            Either you’re dancing it, or it’s dancing you.

 

But a dance of dust? I said That’s a bit much

It said, “Boy, you’re a bit out of touch.

You’re a spiritual confection of the living earth’s crust

And what that makes you is a Dance of Dust

 

We can fix your smile, we can firm up your bust

We can cure your piles, we can treat you for rust

We can give you a certificate that says you’re One Of Us

But nothing can save you from the Dance of Dust

It’s a Dance of Dust, boy, don’t you doubt it.”

I said, “Sure. Tell me about it.”                     (So it did.)

 

You dance out of your mother and you dance before your dad

Then you all dance together and you go a little mad

You sleepdance in the night-time, wakedance in the day

You dance the sacred geometry of DNA

                        It’s in your genes!

You do it in the sunshine, you do it in the rain

You take your partner by the limbic brain

You moan with pleasure then you howl with pain

You break up your relationship – and start again

                        Anyone can do it!

When you’re first on the scene, bursting at the seams

You do the Dance better (‘cause you don’t care what it means)

You take a few chances, steal a few scenes

You eat food grown from the bones of has-beens

            Well you can say it’s obscene, you can tell me I’m cruel

            But this time next aeon you’ll be fossil fuel

 

You can dance like Rudolph Nureyev or Ginger Rogers

Gene Kelly, Wayne Sleep or the Artful Dodger

But when the spirit is thrilling and the flesh is sleek

Then it’s ashes to ashes and cheek to cheek

            I said, “What does that mean?” It said, “Shut your face.

            You can think you’re so clever, you can think you’re so sussed

            But you’re just another hoofer in the Dance of Dust

 

You do it first and last, last and first

From the day you’re born to the day your bubble bursts

You can’t sit on the fence, you can’t ever abstain

The Dust keeps Dancing in the back of your brain

 

            You can ‘phone your mother, you can change your name

            You can go bananas, you can go on the game

            You can hail a taxi, you can catch a bus

            But you can’t get away from the Dance of Dust

 

            But it’s a Dance of Dust –you might have to adjust

            It’s a Dance of dust – and you’ve just got to trust

            It’s a Dance of Dust – and there’s nothing to discuss

            It’s a Dance of Dust –

                                                What’s all the fuss?

 

 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 28th, 2007 at 7:03 pm and is filed under broadcasting, poetry, wonder. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.