To sing with friends brings joy to those who hear us But shoulder to shoulder we who give voice have earned the greater gift To stand inside a living body of music connected by sublime resonance
II.The Thrum
Chords reach in to finger my waiting bones sometimes as undulating touch threads of fog with no barriers gently casual hands on shoulders or arms outstretched announcing their intentions patient for response
Other notes roar by on mighty gilt chariots hordes of them racing powerful as lama horns straight to the echo rooms of my open heart until their wake folds me into beauty
Tonight there was, like then a gilded room with two grand staircases this one on a tv screen the swish of silk and gardenias turning through candlelight time waiting a beat for their smiles to sail by And you were gone my dearest friend, when I wanted us to remind each other of waltzing with our beaux dark haired young blades in decorations and tails before you all began to leave, one by one and me alone to remember for you
Wordless notes at parting that have always brought tears Gathered by a seer whose side job is dowsing a Scottish lament A violin strung mourning aid and quiet picked guitar prompted shards of loss to call me kin Even with young children then and a loving life all the dogs still alive, the Celt in me keened for another’s loss Yesterday it barred the way asking to be heard again And not wanting a scolding from my highland ghosts I stood aside and cried for that younger life Of a hand laid soft on his shoulder as I passed by Or his kiss on my wrist Not willing to waste incidental moments Grateful for those times and the conjures of old hands on strings As the world mourns and I reach for the comfort of my dogs
They clank along with me pieces of a longish life each note a color tone shell for its part of the story days or years from a to b still singing, they diffuse slowly sound that holds time safe
I didn’t know I loved the spirit in soil deep under reed marshes connected to it through my bones a vision of roiling life
I didn’t know I loved to sing that song could make me cry joy a quick moment on the backs of notes voices together light to dark
I didn’t know that I loved sense of place color memories until they were gone layered goodbyes in dim sunlight dusty motes on gray air
I didn’t know I still loved touch thought it dried and done but not forgotten only to find a fire so ready lit my blood sang even as I would cry aloud
I didn’t know that I loved words that they would fill every empty place pull me with them words from my eyes words from unheard thought
I didn’t know how much I loved my life sweet along with sharp and hard rushing in over tidal flats escaping just as fast that I could cherish it not just live it
____________________________________________ This list poem came out of a short poetry workshop taught in 2015 by the poet Doug Anderson. We read Things I Didn’t Know I Loved by the Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet, and were prompted to write our own list poem by the same title. This is the revised version.
Tomorrow it might have been fifty-two
not just thirteen years since our thirty-ninth
Aligned with family and gratitude
the day always reflected joy,
the heat of our love folded into stuffing
The missing of him has gotten harder
but it seems he knows. I came upon
the sound of his small gasp
that wrapped me up each time
in beauty gauze, when finally ready
I presented myself to his gaze
before our evenings out.
Deliciousness itself, just knowing
that he would when I did, and
that he always meant it.
And I can smile now, the memory
a pitch perfect gift.
In song, music puts its hands around my heart and my words think tears are a puddle to splash through, shoeless. Color often stops my breath, and I am its willing prisoner. A sudden memory coming on fast might need release. Any of these call up joy or tears, and it is all wonderful. To me. When the signal comes they might glide to me in a waltz, or whirl up on the skirts of a wild mazurka. Better yet, ride in on the smoothness of an alto sax.
I still wear it on my skin,
to conjure touch, intensely green
as if emeralds had visited,
every nerve end bathed in
the musk of an old perfume.
A hand there, and there,
thoughts bent down to mine.
Walls all twilight, music
tracing curves, the beat
of time slowed to gray,
and wanting it endless.
The music stops and echos
shimmer then fade
our voices stilled waiting
for the flood of response
I fall into the silence
all energy given away
to singing’s singular joy
A long goodbye jumps the queue
to sudden extinction
Love lives on the mountain
ashes soaking into moss
his spirit coming back
to say that 40 years were
worth it all in all
and how are things
The chatter quieted
and in its place
a single sound takes shape
One note clearly formed
on endless breath
I find it comes from me
I had been singing all along
and never knew
_________________________________
a prompt from tonight’s writing group with Doug Anderson: endings
all eyes and
single voices
become
this great body
balanced on
a razor thin
tipping point
we sing
full throat
to ecstasy
the music stops
I fall into
the abyss of silence
tears flowing
__________________________________
the moment after the end of a great piece. for Cailin Marcel Manson, who took us there.
Life With Horace 