Sometimes it just comes down to practicing scales
If you want to be good at playing music
There’s a lot of considerations in life, there’s things to get mad at,
There’s the examined life, self-awareness,
Outgrowing the script childhood wrote for you
But that won’t make you good at playing music
Your scales will be effortless, unless you’re swimming in all that
Then, you won’t get through one without mistakes, or a song
Your mind won’t be there, and it isn’t considerations that you’re playing
There’s a time when you have to let go, or work through it to peace
What good are considerations, self-awareness, spiritual growth
If you’re not going to do something that contributes to culture?
Like the NFL player said about that body-builder on my construction site
He was afraid the heavy lifting on the job would ruin his work-out
“What‘s the point of having muscles if you’re not going to use them?”
Unless we’re talking about soloing, or composing, or writing a poem
Then you’ll want considerations, the examined life, spiritual growth
Which are to poesis as scales are to a musician
I would say a good song or poem sings out of the human condition
An audience won’t like a song or a poem that they can’t hear
That doesn’t bespeak the human condition,
So poetry isn’t self-reflexive language; it’s a style of saying something
Poetry that’s just playing games with language won’t go very far
Nor is music but an arrangement of scales, rules, and theory, though it is
Miles Davis said to forget all that after you’ve learned it
These days, I’m not composing, though I still write poems, solo
So I can’t abandon considerations altogether
I’ve slept for 27 years, awoke atrophied, I have much to recover
So tonight, and for the next good while It just comes down to practicing scales
SOMETIMES IT COMES DOWN TO SCALES
23 Aug 2021 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: composing, language, neurosis, poem, poesis, poetry, recovery, sca;es, self-awareness, writing
MUSINGS ON STYLE AND TRUTH
30 Apr 2021 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: Andrew Wyeth, Blake, EPIPSYCHIDION, Jackson Pollock, language, poem, poetry, Robert Frost, Shelley, style, truth, Wallace Stevens, wisdom
Does a poem mean?
We studied Ciardi’s How Does a Poem Mean? in college
I don’t think Ciardi gets it
“Have you ever felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?”
Whitman asks in futility of our post-modern age
I’m tired of Wallace Stevens
THE MAN WITH THE BLUE GUITAR never meant a word to me
I tried and gave up trying and now I don’t care
Precious language, specious language, and that’s about it
I want meaning in a poem more than precious language
And Plato cleaved art from truth and made much of propositions
Though his dialogues read like stories and some have myths
My English professor almost omitted Robert Frost
From his Modern American Poetry course due to Frost having “subjects”
Let alone rhyme and rhythm beats and feet, like Blake’s Tyger
It wasn’t all that long ago that Percy Bysshe Shelley
In EPIPSYCHIDION or MONT BLANC: LINES
Imaged more than meant, or imaged as meaning
And it is late, and I am old, and the time and my age are making me cranky
Maybe it’s too much to say I don’t care about Stevens
I get Jackson Pollock, but own an expensive Andrew Wyeth print
I read Stevens, but I like Robert Frost
Time was, language communicated
Truth was told, wisdom was passed down to generations
Story was religion, and verse, prophesy
And art was more than style and originality,
Poetry more than precious word choice
But it’s late, and I’m getting tired and old
I still care how a poem means
I may be going the way of rhyme and rhythm, beats and feet
But it’s nice and sweet not to have to like Wallace Stevens anymore
WINTER INDOORS
17 Dec 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: autumn, candle, Christmas, COVID, flame, indoors, language, poem, poetry, Solstice, winter
Outside, the snow witnesses the cold
Early on the clock, darkness falls
This, the Solstice, the year’s darkest day
When we anticipate the coming of Light
The light of a small candle flame
Set before a Sarasvati statuette, Goddess
For students, musicians, poets; for me
In my indoors, today, I contemplate poetry
Made not of special poetic language only
Or a language obfuscated out of meaning
Rather, rhetoric coalesced around meaning
Truth in perfect words
Musings shining in my small Christmas tree’s lights
Every cloth gnome, owl, snowman, and mouse on it a gift
A cup of tea on the end-table next me
A pad of paper, my favorite pen, and ink on the page
Settling into a season I’m reluctant to accept
Seeing it coming in the early autumn sunset
On an outdoor patio of a favorite coffee shop
Thinking, then, about the candle, cup of tea, Christmas lights
Just as well, I don’t have any money
And COVID has closed most businesses
Locked us down, mandated us homebound
I take refreshment in the piercing candle flame
DURGA PUJA
27 Oct 2020 1 Comment
in Blog Tags: Christmas, COVID-19, Durga Puja, Hewlett-Packard, homebound, Jesus, language, laptop, music, poetry, Sarasvati, song, Vedas, verse
My laptop broke and tech support where I bought it wasn’t being helpful
So I called Hewlett-Packard on their direct tech support line
Of course, they routed my call to India, to a pleasant tech named Deepak
He apologized for the background noise on his end; the festival Durga Puja
Was being celebrated today this, the final of 10 days
I vaguely recalled Durga from a religion class 34 years ago
And I asked Deepak of he knew of the Goddess Sarasvati
She, the Goddess of music, learning, and language
I, a musician, scholar, and writer
Sarasvati gave India the Vedas, when religion was verse and verse, song
Deepak said he knew Sarasvati and She is the exact Goddess for a musician
I told Deepak I have a statuette of Sarasvati in my apartment
Across the miles and ocean, his soul touched mine, and tears welled up
In his eyes, Sarasvati is alive, and as he spoke, my statuette
Seemed to shine with an unearthly color and a strange light came over just my statuette
Only my eyes could see
Mother India, home of our western languages
Cradle of civilization unearthed at Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa
Durga, the Mother who birthed all of creation
Mother to Sarasvati, not just a footnote in a religion class
Alive and real to him as is Jesus to me, his Durga Puja like my Christmas
He completed my service order and I wished him well
During the remainder of the Durga Puja Festival
Deepak said that he is sadly homebound due to COVID-19
And couldn’t celebrate with his family, and I
Don’t know if I can go without a computer for a week or so
I looked at my statuette of Sarasvati and the unearthly colors were gone
DAINTY FLOWERS
15 Jul 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: angels, flowers, Frost, ideas, language, memory, moonlight, philosophy, poem, poetry, thought
I think you love those flowers because they’re small
So much that several times you showed them to me
I never would have noticed them at all
In fact, I wondered what it is you see
The tendrils are as thin as silken thread
And end in tiny flowers like white spray
So delicate it’s as if moonlight bled
Into dreams that bloom when angels pray
Outside of a coffee shop/bookstore
Different kinds of flowers have been planted
I recalled a chat I had before
Concerning certain flowers the owner wanted
She struggled trying to craft exact language
To paint a picture so my mind could see
The flowers that her memory kept in image
Even talking with her hands to show me
But she succeeded finally to convey
That what they meant especially to her,
Talking on the patio that day,
Was, as she put it, how dainty they were
Frost names flower types in his poetry
Like pale orchises and Rose Pogonias
Flowers aren’t objects of study for me
Their images aren’t in my ideas
Sometimes I ponder why they’re there at all
Why a random, pointless drive of nature
Would evolve some shape so beautiful
Don’t they argue for some kind of Maker?
Now, flowers bloom in my mentality
And delicate as moonlight tiny sprays
Grow in meaning for philosophy
Merit in heavy thought a rightful place
MUSINGS ON MUSIC
05 May 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: Beethoven, cultivation, culture, free verse, language, muse, music, recording, singing, soul, symphony, synapses
Music isn’t just pretty sounds, a pulse
Rock isn’t just a distorted guitar
Blues isn’t just a 12-bar form
Music should strike fire from the heart, so said Beethoven,
Music is poetry of the soul, heart and soul
Soul music, the existence of the soul
Touched by fire, music is a living thing
Life-giving, live or recorded, alive through ages
Living with individuals through life, through aging,
In youth or age, youth and age
Peasant and king hear the same music, so say the Chinese
Pounding through the heart, hearing, heard with soul
Existence of the soul, sounds’ salve, alive
Conducted through electricity in the brain
Singing through synapses in the soul
Symphony of the senses sent from on high
Humans sang before they spoke,
The lilt of language’s inflections
Performances perfecting the human condition
Culture, cultivation, culmination of the muse’s calling
Meaning so much more than pretty sounds, a pulse
ETUDE
03 Sep 2019 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: art, language, meaning, poem, poetics, poetry, reality, script, word play, words
I paint with words the colors of my moods
In language, I play the notes of my soul
With nouns and verbs, I construct structures of meaning
The script that is scene and act of my life’s issues
And if I am true, my words are yours
Poetry that is about language only
Means nothing to the ages
Word play, alliteration, assonance, rhyme and rhythm
Are scholastic toys unless vehicles of meaning
When dancing language denotes reality
Poetry is loved and lasting
APOPHATIC EXPERIENCES
19 Jul 2019 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: experience, language, poem, poetry, pollution, song, verse
Not every aspect of human experience
Merits verse
There are readers
And conjuring
Some conjurings merit exorcism
Words convey
There are nameless entities
To be forgotten, not versified
Pollution of language
Heart and mind and soul
Oh, you know it
But do not make of it poem or song
LANGUAGE AND TRUTH
12 Jun 2019 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: language, poem, poetry, truth, words, writing
Your first written impulse isn’t always
The truth
And so revisions
Paring away distracting words
Imprecise words
Replacing the vague with
Clarity
Sculpting truth
Epistemology and What Words Are
11 Sep 2018 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: epistemology, experience, language, lies, Locke, poetry, soul, truth, words
Words are created by people;
They help us function.
Words have meaning only when
Our experience meshes with the origin
Of any given word.
Then there is the consideration
Of experience.
To Locke, experience is
Inner and outer.
The motions of our soul are inner.
The world we all share is outer.
Words created to mediate what is inner
Confront what is outer.
When they coincide,
We call it truth.
A preponderance of words from what is inner
That don’t coincide with words from what is outer
Is what we call a lie.
Linguistic processes affirm the art of epistemology.
And there is what we call truth.
For those who care.