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Posts Tagged ‘music’

Arrangement

 

 

 

In my heart, a mandolin

just waiting to be played—

there are music sheets,

ignore them. Doesn’t matter

if you know how to play.

What matters is you try.

What matters is you practice

tuning the strings

until you find the way

to make them sing.

What matters is that

we both know there’s

music in there just waiting

to be found and

your hands are curious,

tender.

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It is like the musical figurine

on the bedside stand

that, for no reason,

begins to play, first

one tinkly note, then another.

The room has been quiet,

and now, the small ceramic girl

with her pink sun hat

and her kneeling sheep moves

ever so slightly and the invisible metal

tines plink out notes

to an unfamiliar song.

And then they stop. And then

start again. There is no

visible hand turning

the crank to initiate

the music. And isn’t that

just how it happens sometimes,

how you feel as if

you, too, do not feel nor see

the hand that turns you,

but out of nothing

a music arrives in you

and though it is

a mystery, you nod

and say thank you, thank you.

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and suddenly I’m singing

in the cereal aisle,

unable to turn the music up

and dancing anyway—

the words spin me

like old friends,

My older self looks back

at me and says,

that’s right,

move it sister

while you still hear

the music, while you still

can dance.

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with thanks to Kyra

 

 

Minor and slow,

the Russian death song

on the cello

fills the room

with loss and beauty,

the two rubbing

together like notes

side by side on the scale

played at the same time.

I lay on the floor

beneath the great instrument

and feel the waves of it

as if they originate inside me—

play it again, I beg

the cellist, and then,

when it’s done, I beg her

again, play it again,

And she does. And she does,

the warm notes filling

any chill they find.

 

 

 

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He sings in the corner,

the invisible cricket,

and each time I look for him,

he stops—

 

I don’t wish

to frighten the cricket,

I only want

to watch.

 

What is it in us

that wants to know details,

wants to analyze

how it is done?

 

And what is it in us

that says, close your eyes

and let the song

go on.

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scraps of rusted metal,

tumbled mine buildings,

splinters of fallen trees—

 

running clear and cold, the creek

makes music of everything

 

 

 

 

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Over and Over and Over

 

 

 

all day a song

insists on itself

like a lover who tugs and flirts

at the hem of a dress—

I let it have its way

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In the Midst of the Wreckage

Make in my heart a concert hall

where a single violin

plays on the vacant stage

reminding me in a minor key,

that one true song

touches every broken,

twisted, rotted thing

invites us to lean deeper into,

no, to fall completely

into the beauty

we stopped believing in.

Let me not just hear the song,

let me tear down the heart’s walls

so everyone can hear.

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Translate my body into song, a song
that only you know how to sing. Transpose
my thoughts in E flat major—key of love
and deepening devotion. Score my lips
in F sharp major—triumph over pain.
My heart, compose in G—idyllic, filled
with tender gratitude. And for my breath,
E major—laughing pleasure, full delight.

And I will sing you, too, my dear, will sing
in tones that only you can hear, will learn
to sing outside the staves—for they’re too much
like cages for the wilderness of you.
And let us improvise together, let
us sing beyond the measures, let us learn
new signatures, new ways of listening.

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Accidental Libretto

Oh hear that, love,

the night sky has become

an opera of blossoms.

The stars are opening

into song for anyone

who will listen.

As always, someone’s

heart is breaking,

someone’s getting even.

And someone’s love

is gaining wings.

And someone’s trapped

in prison. And all of us

are invited to be

singers in the chorus.

Or perhaps

to be the silence.

Or perhaps to write

the score. Oh darn

the world of daytime things

that keeps us from this art.

Let’s pretend that we don’t know

the end. Now’s the time

the start.

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