Kind of Blue
a poem to celebrate a journey across New Zealand's South Island, with acknowledgement to the great Miles Davis jazz album
It starts with Tekapo,
and blue mixed with green
spreads out like a bishop’s
cloak, unfurling from the
small stone chapel,
bewitching as a melody
played in minor key.
Then Pukaki, brilliant as a soloist,
turquoise dazzles the eye and
catches the breath; and a timpani
of reflections: sky, clouds, trees,
mountains; perfection of performance;
spirits soar still higher,
requiem for the glacier.
And Dunstan for a change of mood.
Blue-tinged grey and waves that quaver
through the tune, the steady pulse
of drum and cymbal, gathering
silver solos from countless cataracts
freeloading on the background bass
of rhythmic currents in ice-age space.
The finale, Wakatipu, where the mountains
cut clean through water like
the trumpet pealing in the evening;
drama of darkness rumbling through the ensemble
until the spotlight sparkles on the glad encore.
No notes as true
as this kind of blue.
copyright Charlie Lambert
and blue mixed with green
spreads out like a bishop’s
cloak, unfurling from the
small stone chapel,
bewitching as a melody
played in minor key.
Then Pukaki, brilliant as a soloist,
turquoise dazzles the eye and
catches the breath; and a timpani
of reflections: sky, clouds, trees,
mountains; perfection of performance;
spirits soar still higher,
requiem for the glacier.
And Dunstan for a change of mood.
Blue-tinged grey and waves that quaver
through the tune, the steady pulse
of drum and cymbal, gathering
silver solos from countless cataracts
freeloading on the background bass
of rhythmic currents in ice-age space.
The finale, Wakatipu, where the mountains
cut clean through water like
the trumpet pealing in the evening;
drama of darkness rumbling through the ensemble
until the spotlight sparkles on the glad encore.
No notes as true
as this kind of blue.
copyright Charlie Lambert