DEREK

Derek Bailey is the only artist from whom I have ever sought an autograph. He signed my copy of his book, Improvisation: Its Nature and Practice in Music. The occasion was his playing in an intimate setting near where I was living in 1999. I cannot say the sounds he produced that night, the only time I ever heard him live, were transcendent. There were no great moments that stand out in my memory. Bailey was in a very relaxed mood. I would almost say he was withdrawn, as if he were playing for himself. It was a meditative hour, and I was very happy to be there. Afterward I approached the small merchandise table. As I recall I was the only one who did so. Bailey, I imagined, looked at me with some curiosity. A tall man, he was happy to sign the book. I think his companion was even happier, or at least relieved, that I bought a few CDs. I wanted to buy more. I wanted to give the man a gold bar. His inspiration has been incalculable. Afterward I wrote this poem:

DEREK

I shook the hand that shook

the strings attached to satellites

reporting on the states of things

            whether dull or sharp

            heavy or light

            droll or felicitous.

The hand was open

as a smile

when one is pleased

simply to have a seat

and enjoy

a few moments of

            here 
      what’s now 
             is

all there is

and all

there has to be.