Vinyl

I slip the vinyl from its paper sleeve,
carefully cradling it with my outstretched fingers,
holding it gently like a newborn babe.

Placing it tenderly, I dust it with a cloth
then brush the needle clean. This tactile ritual
just as important as the sound produced.

The customary crackle. ‘Hello old friend’, I smile.
The soundtrack of my youth plays on with only
the occasional interloper interrupting.

Have I reached the groove at record’s end
that leaves us turning on an endless loop,
or does the promise of a second side remain?

Working late today, listening to Roger Taylor’s ‘Outsider’ album. The record may be fairly new, but the voice is a long familiar travelling companion.
(28.03.25)

The needle drops, its solid clunk,
Precipitates familiar crackles,
Vinyl’s weakness? Perhaps, or character,
But compensating with more soul.
The sax begins, transporting us,
To smokey bars where bourbon’s poured,
In black and white, and couples sway,
And nodding men are lost in jazz.
The snare’s shuffle entrances as,
Crisp cymbal strikes entice and take,
Our arms to stroll with walking bass,
And trumpets dance their singing scales.
Too soon the groove reaches its climax,
The side completed but not ended,
Repeated coda, beating on,
Until the arm is lifted home.

A discussion on Twitter about jazz recommendations led to acquiring some new records, and in turn to this verse.
(09.06.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Ode for the Day

An experiment in poetic doodling

Poem 468 – Side A

Poem 131 – Soul Music