Last night I was all geared up for writing a song. Words
and Music – I just presumed that the words written would fit a melody. I presumed
someone would be there with a guitar or a keyboard or some other musical
producing object. There would be a short talk, perhaps, outlining five key
essentials to a good song. There would be a simply melody, perhaps, and ten or
fifteen minutes working on possible lyrics.
This is where the mind goes when one doesn’t read the
information properly!
In a book about walking I came across the term “desire
paths” or "desire lines”. We’ve all been there. Rather than follow the flagstone
path around a corner, we just cut across the grass. Backwards, forwards,
everyone does it and before you know it there is a well-established path. When
it comes to the arts – the paintings, the books, the poetry, the music and
other creative acts – there’s a lot of backwards and forwards between them –
desire paths. A piece of artwork inspires a poem. A poem inspires a piece of
music. Last night was about following the path from music to poetry.
It doesn’t appear to be a very well-established path, but
it was one that we found ourselves upon last night. Some of the poems we read
emulated the structure of music trying the capture the movement of notes, the
breaks, the rests and the melody of carefully chosen words. A prose piece tapped
into the memory associated with a piece of music.
Once upon a time I went to a creative writing workshop
where a lady improvised on a piano and we writers were encouraged to produce
something provoked by the music. I don’t know that I am wired that way. The
desire path between music and poetry, for me, is blocked by a bramble bush or
something. I just can’t do it. I can’t write to order. I need a few days to
mull things over, to marinate a little bit.
I don’t really have that much experience of classical
music. I seem to remember some of our music lessons at school focussing on
music appreciation – listening to the works of great composers. This was in the
days before everyone had a keyboard and a set of headphones. I don’t remember the
music stirring me to tears, or stirring me at all. I can’t think of a piece of classical
music that I would be able to claim as a favourite. Debussy's Clair de Lune
perhaps. Music for me was all about Donny Osmond.
Last night we listened to the finale of Mahler’s 10th
Symphony. It brought to mind a scene from the film “Pride and Prejudice” with
Kiera Knightly, the just before dawn scene where she is tramping around in a
coat over her nightdress, and there coming over the horizon is Mr Darcy. They
kiss as the sun climbs over the horizon. I wasn’t the only one thinking that
way, apparently. Oh yes, there’s a lot of films out there with a musical score that
builds up to a crescendo as star-crossed lovers declare their undying love.
A friend of mine was very clear about what the music
evoked in her - a sense of leaving on the one part and returning on the other.
Perhaps we have been away from a place
with so many memories, that when we return, as the music reaches its crescendo,
the joy, rather than any sorrow crowds in.
I have, thankfully, lost the piece of paper I wrote
on. A line or two that I liked, but far
too much that I didn’t like, I’m not even going to try to reconstruct the poem.
Here’s one I wrote later, after having listened again to
Mahler.
it begins
with nothing
no form, no filling
empty and
dark
nothing moves
nothing stirs
only silence and waiting
then
something hovers
anticipation, expectation
intent
next
a voice
commands
“Let there be light”
and then
nothing becomes
something and
takes up its position
in obedience to
the Creator’s
word
…and there was radiant light
