To write of writing seems so trite
and through this morning all alight,
composing and constructing rime
I seemed to focus all my time
on something sonorous and sleek
and this I cared to form and tweak.
Yet, I could not stay the sounds,
the ones that crack, the ones that round,
the ones that exhale in the wind,
the ones that rest and feed and sin.
I could not break them -though so eager-
then left for you, my reckless reader-
Something in the writing here
with devotion to the ear,
in the hopes that when you read
the music, timbre’d whole will cede
and capture from its hiding place
a flush – a sweltering embrace.
interior to the moment
where we mingled our words,
every other one articulated
disparate pretenses
though thought bound-
to increment and comply
with the next,
leading onward
in the clutches
and parlance of consummation
to a synchronous
indulgence.
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I know the words here are a bit “overzealous,” though as I’ve mentioned before here…I like the sounds that words make. So indulge my vocabulary and just listen to the sounds. Thanks for visiting.
you give me so little to go on-
when I want a touch
of your soul
and only get a sound
how it can
soothe or incite
and just like that
the air splits with
a song
that is both
joyful and sad.
In songs
I play
the sound peaks.
Pizzicato
-the splash of a pebble
breaking the water’s surface-
then hide from the rushing
sounds
of swelling streams
where,
as in triumphant marches,
I reemerge
marcato –
thrust
and struck.
On Wednesday,
the piped-in music
is the dulcet tones of
a soprano saxophone, a theme
some clientele believe balances
smooth with the hot and sour soup
and the first plate of butter shrimp
with white rice, fried pepper squid, and
the hibachi chicken, stratifying the ambience
of a buffet; but the second plate,
picked and chosen
among the sesame chicken, and the
general tso’s,
and the chicken with broccoli
all taste
like a thin song
of tempura chicken (sans the
sweet and sour sauce) on the
front serving table.
On weekends, they serve dim sum
and there are family style meals
served in the banquet room. The music
from the erhu and the lute
is the the sum of the whole,
a way to return
the lever to its grounded point
while remaining on the fulcrum.
Of sounds, there seems a widow’s cruse
to knock around, to interfuse.
This rhyming dervish -so accused-
from Albany to Syracuse
or Monterey to Santa Cruz
across the water -if you choose-
but not so far as Betelgeuse.
I do not wish to disabuse
you of your preference -p’s and q’s-
but only that I’m circumfused
with words whose sounds are overused.
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a list of words presented themselves…and I just couldn’t stop.
An empty calzone-it’s ingredient free-
and one and one is apparently three.
The tap water washes the soot all away,
forgetting that kittens can continue to play.
Roots spread out sideways instead of down
and warblers and magpies,they don’t make a sound.
No cheeps, or wee-zee-zees, or wenk-wenk-wenks either.
No noises from outside, we all take a breather.
Now, the yeast in dough mix is bubbling to rise,
and a circumspect pumpkin hides out in the skies.
Wearing a mask and velveteen cape,
its serpentine movements provide an escape.
While the red sauce is rolling, doubled and boiled,
with smoked mozzarella-its well-olive oiled.
The calzone sits there empty, ready to eat,
soaking up smells from the painted concrete.
A cappella music (without instrumental accompaniment) is particularly enjoyable for me to listen to. As a poet (and an avocational musician), I am drawn to the similarities that poems and a cappella music have. Lyrical phrasing, meter, rhyming, and onomatopoeia mean so much to a cappella music, because it relies so heavily on the human vocal element.
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I woke up this morning with a song in my head that I hadn’t thought about in quite some time. This song is not an unusual one…if you are familiar with hymns, you’d probably say that you’ve heard this one countless times in church.^ In the Garden (And he walks with me) is a gospel song written by American songwriter Charles Austin Miles (1868 – 1946), a former pharmacist who served as editor and manager at Hall-Mack publishers for 37 years. The story goes that he wrote it in the winter of 1912, after sitting for a time in his basement, with no windows, meditating on a scripture passage…(John 20:1-18). The subject is Mary Magdalene, coming upon the tomb of Jesus on the third day after his crucifixion. Miles was inspired by this event, and wrote the following poem.
In the Garden
I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.
Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.
Refrain
I’d stay in the garden with Him,
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.
Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
Yes, this IS a poem. Miles set it to music later that same day and it went on to become one of the best known hymns of the era. It has been covered by Elvis, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Ella Fitzgerald, Johnny Cash, and The Charlie Daniels Band.^^
Look at the rhyme scheme (a b c b). Check out the meter…if you know the hymn well, you can’t stop from swaying with the sing-song scansion in this. Further, the imagery of the garden over an entire day is there…dew on the roses, birds hush their singing, the night is falling. I feel the joy in the words, no music needed.
But…
I’ve a got a version of this poem/song that always improves my mood.
The group Acappella is an ongoing part of the ministry http://acappella.org/blog/ . The group has been in existence since the mid-eighties. They’ve had a number of personnel changes over the years. The version of In the Garden was part of a 1994 album, Hymns for all the World. This is not your grandmother’s gospel version. Check out the “walking” bass line throughout this recording, a very cool thing to add to this song, given the lyrics.
Give it a listen. You won’t be sorry.
This is a great musical setting for the poem, and the music serves a purpose to refresh the words.
See what I mean?
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^ I’m certain of my reasons for thinking of this song and the particular version on the video is my “go-to” version. Let’s just say I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and I have faith that things beyond my control can be taken care of…Without preaching…we’ll leave it at that.
Taps and Ratamacues 