The magic made by melody

 

I am in need of music by Elizabeth Bishop

 

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

 

Source: Music Notes Wallpaper collection

My thoughts:

Music touches us all in some way or the other. Though our preferences for genres of music may change, one will be hard pressed to find any human being who doesn't like some form of music. I think a liking for music is one of the basic traits of being human. There is music all around us in nature - in the call of the birds, in the rustling of the leaves, in the whistling of the breeze, in the gurgling of the streams and maybe even in the whirling of the stars high above. We just have  to listen and be soothed - "held in the arms of rhythm and sleep".

Music has always been my refuge and my solace in times of distress or depression. Notes of music flowing through my blood, falling "like water on my head", truly feel like a healing breath, "a spell of rest", a calm port in a sea of storm. At night, after a busy maddening day, I often relax by listening to my favorite Sufi melodies or swaying to the rhythm of an old song. That is why I can identify so strongly with what this song conveys.

About the poet:

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) was an American poet and a short story writer. During her lifetime, she was a respected yet somewhat obscure figure in the world of American literature. However, after her death, her reputation has grown significantly. She was a perfectionist who did not write prolifically and wrote only 101 poems during her lifetime. Her verse is marked by precise descriptions of the physical world and an air of poetic serenity, but her underlying themes include grief, longing and a struggle to find a sense of belonging. 

What is love?

When dew laden grass grazes my bare feet
and fresh flower petals feel velvety to my palms,
When white mountains blow cold breaths on my face
and mellow winter sun gently brushes my skin -
Love touches me.

When a stray dog looks up at me with liquid eyes,
his warm furry body leaning on me with trust,
When my grandmother places her wrinkled hand
on my head, smiling at me with ancient wisdom -
Love comes to me.

When those rows of lost faces from frozen frames
gaze at me, from another time, another place,
When in the middle of a tedious, wrenching day,
my friend sends me a line in remembrance -
Love envelopes me.

When I get tired of the churn of daily existence
and pray till pure peace bathes my being,
When I look down at the lines I have written,
wringing my heart and cracking my soul -
Love penetrates me.

Who said love is difficult to find?

The pattern

A network of causes
a maze of actions
a cobweb of events
a cross-stiched design
a hand weaving threads
thin yet tensile
crisscrossing paths
converging to one point
and diverging again
like tributaries of a river
or winding trails on hills
going round and round
everything happening
just outside my senses
a pattern emerging
forming and dissolving
always beyond my grasp

At the crossroads
is it time to stop
and look back
at the roads I have taken
or could have taken
all the roads I haven't taken
but should have taken
would the whole map
be revealed to me
would someone come
and show me the way
would I know why I'm going
the way I'm going
would all the paths
lead me to the same
end

The abstract painting of life

I splatter some wet crimson turmoil
unevenly on an ochre morning

A dab of burnt sienna passion
merges with a cobalt violet evening

I mix a few drops of blue black madness
onto a wide expanse of indigo night

Layering iridescent white streaks of emotions
to add texture to charcoal grey senses

Source: www.wallpaperbetter.com

I apply a glazing of matted gold
to make raw umber wishes look luminous

Vivid patterns of acrylic emotions
transform rapidly under my hands

colors of feelings words of hues
shades of people brushes of dreams

All blend together on my canvas
a vibrant swirling painting

always alive
always changing

Source: www.amazingwallpaperz.com

 My thoughts:

I have recently developed a fascination for the abstract art form and the various techniques of acrylic painting such as layering, flicking, dabbing and glazing. I have also become familiar with the various shades of acrylic colors that exist and how they can be blended and transformed into something which is almost violent to look at yet strangely soothing. I realized how a painting can portray the same depth and complexity of emotions that a poem can and how it can help us express some of the turbulent emotions raging within us. Out of these thoughts was born this poem.

Home

The moth never builds a nest
flying from one plant to the next
It sits where it pleases
for an hour or a night
Then moves to another branch
its papery wings fluttering
The wind carrying it along
or breaking its flight sometimes
But the moth worries not
It's neither a butterfly
nor a little brown bird
but something in between
Its tiny feet may get stuck
on a soft wood bark
and the pollen of a flower
may seem suddenly sweet
But the moth flies on
Not knowing how to turn back
Having never seen a nest
Does it ever wonder
as it moves away
That tree I left behind
that flower I touched
Perhaps it was home?


My thoughts:

All my life, I have felt a struggle inside me between holding on and letting go, between going and coming back, between motion and inertia, between wanderlust and homesickness. Maybe it's because I have never ever known the feeling of a true home in my adult life, and maybe I have lost contact with what it means to be part of a family. I do not know if my circumstances have fuelled my restlessness or it was always in me, but here's what I do know: give me too many years in one place and I will start struggling to break the bonds of the known city.

I have recently left a city where I had lived for more than 8 years and moved to a totally unknown city. As I try to settle in my new environment, I discover in me the same strange tug-of-war - between longing for the familiar landmarks and much-loved faces of my old city and anticipation to explore a new territory with new ways of living. Even while I am writing this, I'm still struggling with this irrepressible desire to take a trip back to meet old friends and run away from this alien place, even if only for a few days. Trust me, this change is not easy and I'm still coming to terms with it after two months. But the bigger question is: was it required or was it just a bye-product of my restless nature?

I recently heard from someone about an 80-year old man who is appearing for a Master's Degree because it is something he had always wanted to do but had never got around to. On my trek to the formidable Tiger's Nest in Bhutan, I met a 60 plus man who was laboriously trying to climb a steep cliff, because he had never managed to visit this monastery in his youth and had always wanted to. What drives these people to do such things? They know it will not be easy at their age. They no longer have anything to gain financially from accomplishing such things. These are ordinary people just like you and me doing out-of-the-ordinary things for no apparent, practical reason. Such stories force me to stop and think.

The human spirit is said to be indomitable, the lifetime as a human is said to be the most coveted of all reincarnations. Why? Is it so that we can complete the designated years of education, do a 9 hour job, earn an acceptable amount of money, live in a standard family and stay within the four walls of the apartment we have bought with our saved money? Or is it because we are all born with the power to make most of our seemingly implausible dreams possible?

As I reach middle age, I often ask myself - if 60-70% of my life is now over, have I done the things which I have always wanted to do? Or have I been too afraid of letting go of the things I currently treasure and those I feel I can't do without? Is my desire to belong somewhere stopping me from acknowledging the high I feel when I set my foot in a new place, stand in front of a tall mountain, or sink my feet into the waves of an endless sea? If I have always wanted to paint or learn how to play the piano, what is stopping me from learning them? If I want to retire to a small cottage in the mountains with a dog for company, what is holding me back?

Is our affinity for home and security keeping us from realizing what we were meant to be? Is the fear of being out there alone real or perceived? Are we using love and family ties as excuses to cling too tightly to our comfort zone? How much are we willing to risk to open ourselves to new experiences and new learnings? Are the barriers to reaching our dreams outside us or inside us? That, my friends, is what we all need to ask ourselves.

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