Technique and Spirit
So there's Technique;
the mechanics and maths of rhythm
functions,
the movement and force of finger tips,
all the minutia of posture and
breathing,
and disciplined playing of routine
rhythms,
training the mind and body to know
without thinking
the structures and accents of a foreign
language.
There is also Spirit.
The first drummer had it,
no-one taught them how to play
or what to play.
For each drummer a drum
for each drummer a rhythm
ten rhythms
a thousand rhythms
rhythms without end
and
the one rhythm,
the rhythm that doesn't repeat.
Stand in your bedroom and sing it
sit in your car and roll with it
dance all day in stillness
drum all night in silence
It is in you
So practice if you like, or if you
must,
and play when you can, or when you
can't,
be inappropriate, dance though there is
no music,
it's a fair kind of madness to be free
and to drum upon the belly of the world
or your own belly
or your thighs
drum with your sighs
make breathing a rhythm that has a
secret song,
a song that has a secret lyric,
let my life be that unspoken promise
between us
to live forever,
to play without trying,
without asking,
without language or thoughts or regrets
or goals,
play timelessly,
in the kitchen,
or the car park,
or your own mind – in a field in a
dream, in a dream
forget learning, forget knowledge,
forget the awkward adult staring at you
from inside your mind
forget the lessons
and play
as
if
it
didn't
matter
at
all
because it doesn't.
It doesn't concern me if you play or
don't.
It doesn't concern the world, or your
parents
or anyone
it is hardly a concern, whoever you
are,
you can play, or not, if you like
as you like
no aspirations
no bigger meaning
You are a girl
or a boy
or whatever you like,
with a drum.
There is Spirit you see,
in you,
in me.
