A Hymn For John Coltrane
by Robin Kidson

John Coltrane is sleeping
In between the steely sheets of sound;
Even at slumber, the hands always move,
Fingers pressing imaginary keys,
Racing up, down and around the scales.
 

John Coltrane is dreaming:
He’s imprisoned in a cell
Of melody and rhythm,
And play what the paying customers want, Coltrane,
Or we won’t have you back again.
 

John Coltrane is thinking:
Why should I play just one or two notes,
When I could blow you away with a thousand?
Who says that’s the wrong way to play?
 

John Coltrane is breaking free
From the shackles of tune and beat,
The heavy hand of history,
Returning to the purest sound,
The universe expanding.
 

John Coltrane explaining,
It’s not anger it’s the love of God;
It’s a prayer, a hymn, a sacred chant,
A love supreme, a love supreme…

 

Did the shadow of a doubt

Ever darken the mind of John Coltrane?

Did he ever think that perhaps,

He was just playing for himself,

And to hell with everyone else?

Was freedom just another set of chains?

 

John Coltrane is wondering,

From where and why, O Lord, the pain?

John Coltrane is catching the A-train,

The Blue Train, the soul train coast to coast.

John Coltrane is dying,

 

Now gone forever on a dying note…