MUSIC OF THE SPHERES
Curtains drawn against late October twilight,
working on verses about burgeoning flocks
of raucous, emerald Ring-necked Parakeets
in the Surrey Hills, I hear the murmur
of girls. It is Halloween. The bell rings.
There is a bevy of neighbours’ daughters –
one with a painted face, all on the cusp
of womanhood – lovely, ingenuous.
From habit, I watch them safely down the street
and then, before I shut the door, look up
at the night sky, craning my neck with wonder.
Cloud obscures all but Jupiter, Mars, Venus.
It would be tempting to believe not merely
in physical forces and chemical
reactions but design and purpose
through the kaleidoscope of the universe –
and in the countless stars’ unheard music.
After supper, I begin another piece:
about the Ghetto in Golden Prague –
with its learning, its music and its art –
which Hitler decreed should be preserved as
a raree show for ‘Judenrein Europa’.
Daily, new stones are placed on the tomb
of Rabbi Judah Levai ben Bezalel,
Talmudic scholar and Kabbalistic mystic,
legendary creator, from Vltava mud,
of The Golem to scourge the anti-semites,
and battler with Azrael, the angel of death,
to protect his only granddaughter.
***
In the opposite corner of the room
in which I write is an Edwardian
upright piano, an inanimate
companion since my early childhood.
Our granddaughter asks to be lifted
onto the too high stool and tries the notes,
now loud, now soft, with the flats of her hands,
hearing with wonder the unending sounds.
Laurie Corzett
November 9, 2012music of the spheres
In the quiet of the evening
when starlight and peace prevail
a haunting rhythm,
music of the spheres,
comes dancing
embracing fear,
kissing the pain away.
Sadly I watch the sky
hoping for a shooting star
to swoop down and carry me
far into another lifetime,
where kindly constellations
tell stories of joy and thanksgiving.
The evening star crackles and strains
like an old jazz recording.
Music of another age
written on a mighty, sacred wind
told like Homeric verse
by the wanderers —
heavenly nourishing guides
leading us home.
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Ashen
October 20, 2013Parakeets? In Surrey?
Music, heard or unheard, has no boundaries.
Your poem reminds me of a series of spectacular prints, and negatives I burned in a huff of anger, a scene used in my first novel. The images were of the Jewish cemetery in Prague on a blessed day, with magnificent light – each frame engraved in my mind, including Rabbi Loew’s grave and close-ups of stones and petition notes.
Granddaughters receive special regards here 🙂
David Selzer
October 21, 2013The last time – which was perhaps two or three years ago – we visited Claremont Landscape Gardens http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/claremont-landscape-garden/ and Painshill Park http://www.painshill.co.uk/ there were flocks of them. On a visit to Polesden Lacey http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/polesden-lacey/ three or five years ago we overheard a conversation about parakeets on Boxhill. I’m assuming the birds are still about.
I shan’t inquire about the ‘huff of anger’ – only share the regret at the absence of what were obviously exceptional pics.
Special regards indeed!
Susan Chast
November 13, 2013It would be tempting to believe …
They do, she will … and the narrator hears it, too, I believe, but is a guardian figure, one who knows almost too much to rest.