Comments for Lost Passages Blog http://lostpassages.abstrusion.org Where words end up that fall between the spoken lines. Thu, 28 Aug 2008 16:23:30 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.2.1 Comment on (Musings on Muses) Euterpe by Deightine http://lostpassages.abstrusion.org/poetry/2007/10/01/musings-on-muses-euterpe/#comment-548 Deightine Mon, 09 Jun 2008 10:40:54 +0000 http://lostpassages.abstrusion.org/poetry/2007/10/01/musings-on-muses-euterpe/#comment-548 Off stage long after the symphony has ended, echoes chase through his mind. Demanding words from him, an explanation in terms and human sounds. The music inside fighting itself like two strays clawing over a meager bone of the memory. He holds in his hands the shakes of her pain, the pain of his guilt in that he let the flutist part the stage wordlessly, the guilt of her pain left too strong and unstaunched by even an attempt. His fears grip him as the last notes fade in memory, eyes terrified at his instrument; his heart hanging in wonder at what his presumption allowed him to undertake far too lightly. He had cared about the music, he had worried for the flutist, but he had not considered the dissonance his notes would bring to the symphony and her hard-earned catharsis. He worried... if perhaps his moments of music may have done more harm than good. Off stage long after the symphony has ended, echoes chase through his mind.
Demanding words from him, an explanation in terms and human sounds.
The music inside fighting itself like two strays clawing over a meager bone of the memory.
He holds in his hands the shakes of her pain, the pain of his guilt in that he let the flutist part the stage wordlessly, the guilt of her pain left too strong and unstaunched by even an attempt.
His fears grip him as the last notes fade in memory, eyes terrified at his instrument; his heart hanging in wonder at what his presumption allowed him to undertake far too lightly.
He had cared about the music, he had worried for the flutist, but he had not considered the dissonance his notes would bring to the symphony and her hard-earned catharsis.
He worried… if perhaps his moments of music may have done more harm than good.

]]> Comment on (Musings on Muses) Euterpe by Euterpe http://lostpassages.abstrusion.org/poetry/2007/10/01/musings-on-muses-euterpe/#comment-52 Euterpe Mon, 22 Oct 2007 19:53:31 +0000 http://lostpassages.abstrusion.org/poetry/2007/10/01/musings-on-muses-euterpe/#comment-52 She takes a breath, flute poised, as the theme is laid in exposition. A soft melancholic pianissimo crying out in need. There is response in the orchestra, once, twice, then counterpoint. Beautiful strains of harmony sing in a brighter key of warmth, beauty, love. The symphony begins. Polyphonic melodies seemingly fit together. The soloists each play out, wishing their passage to be the most pleasing. One assists the flutist with an emergency repair, secretly an everlasting strain. Jealousy, doubts, pairing, playing out of tune, the performance always continues. Though they tire and struggle, the music does not end. Unknown to her, there played another tune, not from the same staff. From afar, another in the ensemble cries out. She cannot drown out his grave melody, tainted with grief, it becomes her own. Vibrato turns to sobbing cries that spiral, overpowering the entire orchestra. Dissonance. Cacophony. Until it crescendos to insanity. It all falls apart. The opening theme is recapitulated. How does one seek absolution for that which they cannot forgive themselves? How does one soothe the pains for which they feel responsible? With more music? Sometimes the ears need a respite from these sounds, the only gift that love can offer. Between movements, there is uncomfortable silence, the unknowing audience unsure. Should they applaud? Is it over? In the distance sings regret as the flutist nurses a mournful requiem. She takes a breath, flute poised, as the theme is laid in exposition.

A soft melancholic pianissimo crying out in need.

There is response in the orchestra, once, twice, then counterpoint.

Beautiful strains of harmony sing in a brighter key of warmth, beauty, love.

The symphony begins.

Polyphonic melodies seemingly fit together.

The soloists each play out, wishing their passage to be the most pleasing.

One assists the flutist with an emergency repair, secretly an everlasting strain.

Jealousy, doubts, pairing, playing out of tune, the performance always continues.

Though they tire and struggle, the music does not end.

Unknown to her, there played another tune, not from the same staff.

From afar, another in the ensemble cries out.

She cannot drown out his grave melody, tainted with grief, it becomes her own.

Vibrato turns to sobbing cries that spiral, overpowering the entire orchestra.

Dissonance. Cacophony. Until it crescendos to insanity. It all falls apart.

The opening theme is recapitulated.

How does one seek absolution for that which they cannot forgive themselves?

How does one soothe the pains for which they feel responsible? With more music?

Sometimes the ears need a respite from these sounds, the only gift that love can offer.

Between movements, there is uncomfortable silence, the unknowing audience unsure.

Should they applaud? Is it over?

In the distance sings regret as the flutist nurses a mournful requiem.

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