She said: "It's hard for me to explain to you
The brightness of the light
I can still remember when my life was like that
A real and painless beauty
I remember as a kid
When I thought that I knew everything
And in a way I did"
She was a virgin then
A child in a million
With deep brown hazel eyes
And blazing intuition
She called me over to her side
And said: "Will you please listen?
I want to show you something
And it's something I've just written
And I'm calling it
'Poetry and Jazz'"
She watched her happy family
Turn to a broken home
Her father left with someone else
Her mother on her own
Her fourteenth birthday
Her mother spent in tears
She celebrated on her own
Her adolescent years
It was hell then
Caught in the crossfire
Of an emotional triangle
She couldn't keep together
I held her softly
And she sobbed upon my shoulder
Saying: "As you are the closest thing
That I've got to a brother
Explain to me
Why is life so sad?"
Sixteen was better
Because sixteen was boys
Make-up, parties
Alcohol and clothes
Saying to your boyfriend
"Come on, get out of bed
It's three o'clock in the afternoon
And my mother's coming back"
And she smiled then
Her eyes filled with laughter
She didn't know if it was love
But it didn't really matter
She called me on the phone
And said: "Well, hey there, Mr Big Brother
I just got rid of one boyfriend
And got myself another
And listen, this one drives the Jag"
She left school and boyfriend
For university
Three years of study
For an arts degree
Her clothes were outrageous
Her hair was many colours
Her work was radical
And so were her ideas
She said: "This is brilliant!
This place is heaven!
On a score of one to ten
I'd give this place eleven
It kicks you up the ass
And it fires you with ambition
I often used to feel
As if my life was just a prison
Now I realise
It isn't quite that bad"
I was invited to an exhibition
A little while ago
To an art gallery in Paris
Where she has a studio
She looked sophisticated
She was wearing a bronze tan
And she had sold all her work
For some outrageous sum
And I looked at her
And I started laughing
I said: "You're supposed to be an artist
You're supposed to be suffering"
And she just smiled back
And she pointed to this painting
Of a young girl around which
She'd written out this poem
She'd shown me once
Called "Poetry and Jazz"
"My name is Angela
I am twelve years old
I've given up on working hard
And doing as I'm told
I see a child psychologist
Who's spotted in my head
A recipe for delinquency
Or something just as bad
But I'll fight
For my independence
I see the world in another way
To my teachers and my parents
My priorities are different
And my life is not as aimless
I am not disruptive
I am not dangerous
I've risen on purpose
Like poetry and jazz"
She said: "It's hard for me to explain to you
The brightness of the light
I can still remember when my life was like that
A real and painless beauty
I remember as a kid
When I thought that I knew everything
And in a way I did"