Ballarat, February 2022
A grotto of cathedral rock
blue in the shallows
bleak in the depths
secular guides point lurid torches
pilgrims offer candles – neither can illuminate
the mystery of Elliott Smith.
The glam descent, a dark modal turn
sappy crimson plastic keys
inverted ivory, a tone scaffold collapses
into mellifluousness
steel strings pick at old wounds
a plectrum amplifies more forceful declarations.
Whisper thin voce finta
double-tracked allusions to strength
lyrical fragments at the precipice of longing:
his songs kept me holding on for years.
A scratched disc in a glove box
the records she took when she left –
my absent lover inhabits these songs.
There is no space in my heart for the music of Elliott Smith.
Stereo Story #717
Anthony Camm’s Spotify playlist for his poem.
Also see Maria Majsa’s story about Between The Bars.
Discover more from Stereo Stories
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
An excellent piece, Anthony. Kudos.
Thanks Bill :)