is this what music is like in Heaven was asked
in a dream where we telegraphed things
with no Telegraph
who can explain a language where
thoughts through the air spun like crystal
intent understood not vocalized the Pearl of
music and weeping mingled
the weeping magnified
Beethoven presiding
still alive it's quieter than a pin
in the world we guard within
we said on earth we shadow said
nothing could match the stillness there
elaborations of the heart, Chopin
gazing out on the vast blue rains, the infinite refrains
is it art lost cities muse, the Muse apart
to each one listening imparts Faure, Debussy
the melting of clouds into cities, Satie
and Mercy. and Pity and Arvo Part, perhaps
starpoint by starpoint, merry go round,
the children's voices like bells, carillions of the Sun
the ladders from the ground and Time is overcome
and Ives is Ives
this is music in heaven no metronome
only the soaring, wind through the pines
evenings, no more
the jay startled, the sifting of swans
say only begin and not become
to begin like snow, and never to end.
who would return from that country, again
mary angela douglas 18 december 2018;rev. 18 january 2019
in a dream where we telegraphed things
with no Telegraph
who can explain a language where
thoughts through the air spun like crystal
intent understood not vocalized the Pearl of
music and weeping mingled
the weeping magnified
Beethoven presiding
still alive it's quieter than a pin
in the world we guard within
we said on earth we shadow said
nothing could match the stillness there
elaborations of the heart, Chopin
gazing out on the vast blue rains, the infinite refrains
is it art lost cities muse, the Muse apart
to each one listening imparts Faure, Debussy
the melting of clouds into cities, Satie
and Mercy. and Pity and Arvo Part, perhaps
starpoint by starpoint, merry go round,
the children's voices like bells, carillions of the Sun
the ladders from the ground and Time is overcome
and Ives is Ives
this is music in heaven no metronome
only the soaring, wind through the pines
evenings, no more
the jay startled, the sifting of swans
say only begin and not become
to begin like snow, and never to end.
who would return from that country, again
mary angela douglas 18 december 2018;rev. 18 january 2019
