[Michael Cantor]

John, I think you're pushing it. I'll admit to being both tone deaf and snarky, but what do this poem and that music have in common that each one of them don't have with hundreds of other poems and musical selections. Why is this particular poem particularly related to that musical selection?

[John Isbell]

Hi Michael,

That's a good question, which gave me pause for thought. I guess I'd say three things in answer. One, that it's going to be a string concerto, given the bow and string reference, but that still leaves the hundreds you mention. Two, that this famously was the music from Schindler's List - hence perhaps, "that burn my heart to cinders." But three, and most importantly as I wrote, I was thinking of Wagner's famous essay saying Mendelssohn being Jewish and hence rootless could not have access to true passion. Unlike, say, Wagner. I would argue that the concerto is as "passionate" as anything Wagner ever wrote, so thank you, Steven Spielberg, since to this day, people are influenced in their opinions of Mendelssohn's "depth of passion" by Wagner's antisemitic garbage. Hence perhaps, The Shirt That Won't Come Off.

Cheers,
John

[F.F. Teague]

Welcome, Michael.

Thanks for that combo, John; very much enjoyed. I like 'the wheeling seasons' and 'burn my heart to cinders' as imaginative and emotional responses to the musical performance; the final stanza has a strong ending.

I've thought of another combo I could do, to a trance track, but I haven't found the exact mix yet. Well, Brother Adrian of the Rave Shed might be able to help me

In the meantime, here's my poem 'Upton Sticks', just tweaked a little earlier today. This is one of Happenstance's more aggressive dances, and the poem was inspired by their performance during a Gloucestershire Warwickshire Steam Railway war commemoration event back in 2014. What a long time ago that seems today. I couldn't find a recording of it, but I'll look again tomorrow 👍


Upton Sticks

Full uniformed, they stand and scowl,
contesting threats with grimaced growl,
their weaponry awaiting shout
to thrust both sides to raucous rout;
the signal sounds and all advance
on fearless feet in potent prance,
encircling enemies awhile,
with fiery eyes and scornful smile;
and then – thwack-thwack! – the stalwart six
wage Cotswold war of striking sticks,
with weaving windmill all around
the entertaining battle ground;
ragged reports in echoes tell
of flooded fields where fighters fell,
accompanied by rising wails
as steam trains pass their ghostly trails;
yet this is not a dance to death,
to end exhaling broken breath,
instead all finish gleefully
in time of camaraderie.

- - -
I wouldn't post this on Met; it's more of an F&F (friends and family)

[John Isbell]

Glad you liked the cinders, Fliss! I for my part enjoyed your alliteration very much, it seems suited to the dance.

Cheers,
John

[John Isbell]

Hi folks,

Here's another random musical selection and verse to accompany it.

Cheers,
John

Bessie Smith, "Outside of That": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsHiWhj5Wo4


Tonic

At the narrow gate of midnight, when the town
is plunging into dream, I find myself
downstairs where the municipal woods are lost
in these black windows, and the crickets’ song
drowns in the central heating. We are past
the autumn equinox, and night has come
to win its war with day. There’s nothing doing.
The coffee table here is piled with books
I won’t enumerate; I never seem
to shrink the pile. And on my boombox, Bessie
Smith has words for anyone who ever
had the blues, or wondered where their easy
rider’s gone. There’s no amount of reading
that cures the blues, but Bessie and the band
might ease your mind a moment – when the night
does not bring peace, nor morning any tonic.

[F.F. Teague]

Hi John,

Yes, super cinders. And thanks for appreciating the alliteration! I enjoyed writing that one

I enjoyed 'Tonic' too. I like the scene-setting; it's great to see crickets again. I'm wondering where 'the municipal woods' might be and I like the timing, 'the autumn equinox'. It's great that there's a boombox; mostly I just listen to music on my laptop, although it's pretty good. Adrian made his recommendation based on the quality of the speakers and so on. And there's the Technics Hi-Fi for entertaining, purchased 1999. The lyrics to 'Outside of That' are quite hard to listen to. I can relate to some of it, unfortunately. Well, that'll all turn up in the Shady MS, idc.

For now, I've thought of another approach to poetry and music: you write a poem and then it inspires you to write a piece of music. So here's another that turned out a bit F&F, but I'm thinking in terms of a piano interpretation or something on my mini-keyboard. What do you think? Anyway, here it is:


Hoss

I watch our Aidy trundling up the path
astride his wooden horse. It's quite a climb;
his little legs are working very hard
to reach the top. Then Mum calls, Dinner time!

from somewhere in the house. He hears and turns
and starts to ride back down again. So fast!
He laughs, I laugh, and then he hits a kerb,
falls backwards off the horse. I hear Dad's Blast!

as everything goes upside down. Graham runs
to fetch me as the blue wheels spin and spin.
The Herald roars. Mum trips over a shrub
while rushing to the car. We get Aidy in

and have to hold him tight. He seems asleep
as I count all the freckles on his face.
We stop, get out. Dad carries. Mum's saying, Please.
I don't know where we are. A spooky place

of rows of chairs and little tables. Toys,
but frightening things, like giants, staring eyes,
a white-coat man, he's talking, Dad's annoyed,
then pictures, Aidy's head, and then his cries

from just outside the room, but then he laughs
and laughs, our lad, and we go home again.
We play I-Spy. He tells us, H for Hoss!
and Graham says he hasn't got a brain.

🐴 <-- Hoss head

[John Isbell]

Hi Fliss,

Glad you liked "Tonic." Bessie Smith is pretty raw, as you note, and "Outside of That" is no exception. The title carries a lot of meaning - it reminds me quite a bit of Donald Trump apologists. The difference being Bessie is a genius - what a voice! - and they aren't. They called her The Empress of the Blues.

I very much like your idea of composing a piece of music to go with a poem! A bit of a challenge for me at present, not least due to the lack of musical instruments in our Almaty flat. But I look forward to hearing others' efforts.

Forgot to say, I think your Aidy poem is just brilliant. It reminds me of Cider with Rosie in its perspective. There's a guy called Hoss on I think Bonanza, because he looks like a horse (he's very big).

Cheers,
John

[F.F. Teague]

Hi John,

Yes, pretty raw. It's interesting that the title carries that reminder for you. I'll have to listen to more Bessie Smith, I think. I really like her tone.

Thanks for liking that idea! Music-making is possible anywhere, I think. A person can hum, whistle, sing, use kitchen implements as percussion, and so on. Anything, really. I reckon you might be able to come up with an abstract number. That could be a lot of fun

Thanks for enjoying 'Hoss', lol. I'm happy to have reminded you of Cider with Rosie and I'm intrigued by the guy called Hoss!

Another approach we have is lyrics, why not. You might remember my next offering; I workshopped it twice here, shortly after I joined and then about a year ago. I have on my To-Do List completing the piece of music to accompany it. I think what I'd really like to do is an animation


A murder

Something has made a kill down in the winter wheat;
there lie the ragged and rain-worn remains,
close to the border where crop rows and treeline meet –
bristly old poplars and trembling young grains.

Grimly processing from homes in the wooded west,
family come to the corpse and stand round,
each one exclaiming from deep in a black-clad breast,
then all rise up from the cold muddy ground.

Three times they sail a slow circuit in stormy skies,
riding grey clouds in their own dark array,
while the wind snatches and scatters their final cries
and the dead’s entrails are weathered away.

- - -
I've found that trance track I mentioned upthread and I hope to write to it tomorrow morning

[John Isbell]

Hi FLiss,

Yes, I remember this and continue to like it.

Here's Hoss on Bonanza: https://www.distractify.com/p/what-h...d-hoss-bonanza

And here's a little poem that ends my Concerto for the Left Hand:


That Song I Almost Hear


For the religious man, writes Abraham Herschel,
it is as if things stood with their backs to him,
their faces turned to God. And I can speak
to this a little. It is dawn, and each
atom in my line of sight is caught
in the new daylight. I can almost hear
the song that makes the birds sing – as the light
touches Creation, touches every word
this pen can write. That song I almost hear
is not for my ears after all. It is
a song of helpless joy: each particle
hums with existence, and that music leaps
like current to an anode straight to God.


Oh - I'd link to a recording of the music to accompany this one, but I can't find one. :-)

[Allen Tice]

John, you really should spell Abraham Heschel’s name right, if that’s who you mean.