Wilson Moments

I don't mention music in poetry often - I seem to get most of my thoughts on it written elsewhere, most specifically on the other blog Left and to the Back, so it probably doesn't feel like so much of an itchy area in my brain. 

However, many moons ago I wrote a poem which used Brian Wilson's style of arranging and producing as the basis for much of its imagery. I was deeply obsessed with The Beach Boys for a long time, and even tried (and failed) to produce poetry which used tracks like "Good Vibrations" as the basis for its structure.

Anyway, this effort is the only 'complete' one and simply fleetingly mentions some of Brian's songwriting and production quirks. It never got published and I only performed it live a few times, but here it stands as evidence that once every so often, the two streams of music and poetry have crossed in my notebook. Who was I thinking of when I wrote this, and why am I offering post-holiday advice to a young woman? I really can't bloody remember, to be honest - and yes, that is the truth. It's just trying to capture a resigned, defeated mood. I wouldn't be surprised if it was inspired by all the forlorn looking pink-skinned English women on London trains during late August/ early September, coming back home to their frustrating jobs. I don't know how many of them had returned from California, though, but we can file that idea under "poetic licence". 

Wilson Moments

This year’s tan has

faded as rapidly as the

end of a Beach Boys

single.

The holiday was like that –

it built and built ascending

towards greatness then

realised there was only

so much it could do

in a limited time

with the constraints of the

corporation you work for and

your bank manager.

Cheer up.

Your freckles will no

longer conspire to make

all foundation products

futile.  Your chest will

no longer grin

pink spam smiles

to everyone.

That man you were with,

he is no use to you now,

just one more instrument in your

pop pocket symphony, not

even a memorably

bad concept album

addition to your love life.

You can put your

office jacket back on, and

stop making eye contact

with strangers.

You can stop trying to

escape the fact

you were born in England,

not Cali-for-ni-a.