knowing how a piece of music
sets out from, and finally returns to
some chosen ‘key’ based on a single note:
which remains in mind of the composer
and the listener alike; calling back, after
the great adventure, to your loving home;
she, finding that poems, too,
maintain that sound, somewhere in mind – of
what the poem’s about; and whence it started;
which guides each word that’s chosen;
where it shall return to rest..
You hear this (even if you know
nothing about music..) in Mozart’s playful sounds:
as if each day, he packs a rucksack with a snack,
sets out for hills and mountains, clouds,
the tinkling streams, bird cries, goats clambering and
bleating; maybe hears a village band
practising down there below; smiles;
perhaps clouds gather; lightning flashes,
thunder rolls; for that is life..
then, as the shadows of the evening mountains
begin to creep towards the city streets,
follows the streams that skip beside him down the hillside,
paths appearing now, by goats and men more worn;
knowing that, at the end,
his home will still be where it was
that morning after breakfast…
Sometimes, when no-one’s listening but myself,
I sit at the piano, and play the ‘Mozart game’ –
strike a keynote chord; then close my eyes or turn away,
put a finger on an unknown note,
say, around two octaves above that; then
listen as a melody unfurls from inner ear; perhaps
an intermediate harmony assists; and
finally, return to that loved home; now refreshed,
shining-eyed; content; and needing only rest…
Unity of source..
you hear it now?
how much we know of this,
yet scarcely knew we knew..
*
for Elizabeth