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D H Lawrence, Love, music and the human spirit, music that makes you cry, poems about music, poems that make you cry, poetry, poetry community, poetry prompt, Sadness, Seán Ó Coileáin, tears, truth and beauty, weeping
Great music revitalizes the weary soul, emboldening it to renew its vows to work for the noble causes of the human spirit; Nickleback fuels frat parties and the wars in the Middle East. Joking aside, let us recognize that countless writers and thinkers have bowed down to the coveted powers of music: expressing what words cannot, healing where medicine fails, guiding when the light has been extinguished. Jack Kerouac went so far as to say, “The only truth is music.” Yeah, yeah, the beat behemoth said a lot of off the wall things in his day, but I’m pretty sure he was on to something there.
As poets, though words are the tools of our trade, and though we’re up against the impossible task of “expressing what cannot be expressed in words,” we are keen to the arsenal of literary devices and instruments that, when used wisely, can evoke the soul in much the same way that music does — utilizing rhythm, meticulous word choice/association, cadence, and of course the modes and moods you create by what you say and by the spaces you leave for the reader/listener to make their own. Never let anyone, least of all a non-poet, tell you anything’s impossible.
When we consider melancholy, or grief, or even profound joy — any overpowering emotion that might cause us to cry — what in our music lets us feel so deeply that it provides space for us to explore and affirm our sorrow? Sometimes the music catches us unawares like a best friend knowing how to share your burden better than you know how to. How can we tap into this awesome power of music in our poetry? Let’s take for inspiration this poem by Seán Ó Coileáin,
The Ruins of Timoleague Abbey
I am gut sad.
I am flirting
with the green waves,
wandering the sand,
feeding reflection
into the seaweed foam.
That Shaker’s moon
is up.
Crested by corn-colored stars
and traced by those witchy scribblers
who read the bone-smoke.
No wind at all —
no flutter
for foxglove or elm.
There is a church door.
In the time
when the people
of my hut lived,
there was eating and thinking
dished out to the poor
and the soul-sick in this place.
I am in my remembering.
By the frame of the door
is a crooked black bench.
It is oily with history
of the rumps of sages,
and the foot-sore
who lingered in the storm.
I am bent with weeping.
This blue dream
chucks the salt
from me.
I remember
the walls god-bright
with the king’s theology,
the slow chorus
of the low bell,
the full hymn
of the byre and field.
Pathetic hut.
Rain-cracked and wind-straddled.
Your walls bare-nubbed
by chill flagons
of ocean spit.
The saints are scattered.
The high gable
is an ivy tangle.
The stink of fox
is the only swinging incense.
There is no stew
for this arriving prodigal,
no candled bed.
My kin
lie under the ground
of this place.
My shape
is sloughed with grief.
No more red tree
between my thighs.
My eyes are milk.
Rage my pony.
My face has earnt
the grim mask.
My heart a husky gore.
But my hand. My hand
reaches through this sour air
and touches
the splendid darkness
of my deliverer.
(Translated from the Irish by Tony Hoagland and Martin Shaw, Source: poetryfoundation.org)
Or here is another, coincidentally also about nostalgia (though for our prompt’s sake feel free to write about a different theme.) I can hear the singing now…
Piano
⁃ D.H. Lawrence
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
(Source: poetryfoundation.org)
This is Amaya Engleking and as tonight’s pubtender — and in need of a good cleansing cry — I want to hear about a piece of music that has made you shed tears. Write a poem about the experience and try your best to link the song via YouTube so we readers can engage and even possibly be touched in the same way. It is my hope that on this evening’s poetry trail (of tears) we all slow down and take the time to listen to our fellow poets’ music choices, either before or after reading their complementary poems.
For more inspiration, here’s part of the haunting ‘Funeral Canticle’ composed by John Tavener, which I originally heard in Terrence Malick’s astounding 2011 film-poem, Tree of Life.
So write a poem to your blog and link up to Mr Linky below, then read, listen, cry, and comment on other’s work. I have a jar of quarters for the jukebox and a box of tissues — let’s get to it…
This took me a while, and I had to go back into my memories.
I feel like I’ve cried to so much music but it was hard to pinpoint one and really get into it.
Wow, that was intense. I’m not sure how much reading I’m going to be able to do.
Yeah, maybe it’s more of a heavy November type prompt. Ah well. Here’s to our Southern Hemisphere friends.
You are so right. It fitted things for me for the month of May rather than June (and I’m in the Southern Hemisphere) but all through the sadness I kept thinking how I’d heard it is so lovely in May in the Northern Hemisphere. Great prompt
Hello everyone- Into this pool of tears I will wade.
Don’t drown!
Thanks for the light hearted response, I needed that!
Thank you for such an engaging prompt, Amaya. I love music, especially rock, metal and opera, but mainly Puccini. I introduced my metal-loving husband to Puccini and now he’s a fan too. He even booked tickets for Madame Butterfly at the Royal Albert Hall about ten years ago and we both sat in the front row with tears in our eyes.
You mentioned your love for Puccini in my last prompt poem. I have never cried at the opera, but several times at the symphony.
I love the Shostakovich piece, Amaya. I’ll have to download it. 🙂
Hi everyone. Well I could just cry with all the internet problems I’m having today of all days. So sorry for the delay! I’m really looking forward to serving you a cuppa tears tonight. This should be a moving one. Thanks for being here!
My internet was messing up as well…
Thank you Amaya for hosting, and thank you for the tears of love and memory I’ve shed creating this post. I needed this right now.
Lovely!
Thank you Amaya. You have drawn me out. I am grateful. Facing some darkness is helping me notice the light, and your beautiful prompt is full of light. love love love Malik’s “Tree of Life” and the music. I am ever grateful to you my friend. I will not sip a the pub tonight, have to wade through mountains of clinic work and messages, but will look forward to moving through the trail, which will take twice as long becaase there will be wonderful music to listen to with each entry. Brilliant! Love it!, but might take me weeks! Maybe I will have a small cup afterall of something, maybe a vintage of aolian mixed into twelve tones. Love ya! Lona
All hail the Aolian god!
Hello everyone,
It’s some time since I visited. But I am back to writing after lots of heart things going on for me.
I love the prompt and it has helped me work through some of what I need to at the moment.
Now to read you all and not cry too much. But music sad or otherwise is always great joy as well.
I’m pretty sure I got it into Mr Linky but if not ….
https://benitakape.wordpress.com/2019/06/05/holding-hands/
Hi Amaya and All. Really late to the pub this evening but I was on a day trip to the Peony Garden at Ann Arbor, MI today. I love this prompt as music has been my spiritual crutch for as long as I can remember. Like you, I’ve cried to a lot of songs so it will be tough picking one out.
Had to add in, what a wonderful image & quote from Khalil Gibran! 🙂
This is a great prompt Amaya. Thanks! (K)
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Thank you for hosting, Amaya. Late to the pub….but so glad you left the key under the mat and the lights on! Just posted…..memories of my dear brother’s funeral which was thirty years ago. He was 9 years older than me and died suddenly, unexpected, at only 51. Far too young. I delivered the eulogy after which the full congregation sang Amazing Grace. That song, since that time, spills memories for me.
And I must add, I adore the quotation from Gibran.
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