tap-tap
quick flips of paper
a swish of cloth
all heads magnetized
to one point
the man with a wand
it is magic
how a baton
thinner than a divining rod
or Moses’ mythical staff
can part the silence
and roar a swell of sound
with the slightest quiver
or grandest sweep.
Look how the arm attached is possessed,
a snake of sound follows motion’s instrument,
how the cloud of silence parts,
the vibration of sunlight blows through
heralding brass tubes
or moonlit merry piccolos
It is magic how a person
with nothing but a stick and his body-sway like a tree
in the Furioso of storm
can cause others
to expound a round of musical theme,
a volley in a war,
a rumble, grumble,
or so pianissimo
an enchanted faerie dance,
a tinkle of feet,
a fey wink, a pinch of sound
in the broth until the wrath of God
or human tragedy
rebounds, simmers seriously,
explodes in grandiose procession,
vast percussion thumping,
stumping along a dark enchanted night
until the morning's twitter
of daily rivers
feather their movement
and the bows and strings wing
aspiration or sorrow
or the very timbre of joy itself
O Magic
Mountain of Sound,
Fountain of Sound,
how from a thin reed
and the tap at the beginning,
a child's ear
not knowing the score,
or what a score is,
hears
out of thin air
thick swaths of dancing music,
as if the gods obeyed.
Magic (Revision 1)
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Magic (Revision 1)
Last edited by theirishsea on August 28th, 2015, 8:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
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- Posts: 630
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:09 am
Re: Magic (Revision 1)
Studio 8 gang. I need your criticism. Point out all the mistakes and errors in this piece. This is the first revision. I'm not letting other people best me in poetry. I need your help. I know this is not the final poem. It won't pass muster with certain critics. I'm begging for your most penetrating criticism.
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
Re: Magic (Revision 1)
it's a damn good poem to me as it is, and I would not have offered anything hadn't you implored us....you do a marvelous job illuminating the maestro's baton and the ensuing magic that comes forth from that initial tap tap
minor suggestions would be lose the "in" before the Furioso of storm, I think it leads better into the next line....
I kind if like "in the broth" to follow, "a pinch of sound" on the same line....leaving "until the wrath of God" to occupy a line by itself
also what do you think about changing " vast percussion thumping" to
percussion's vast thumping....
and finally i was wondering if "thick swaths of dancing music" might be altered to
thick swaths of dancing notes
as i said these are minor ideas for a solid poem, that I make because you were really looking for suggestions...best of luck with the revision
minor suggestions would be lose the "in" before the Furioso of storm, I think it leads better into the next line....
I kind if like "in the broth" to follow, "a pinch of sound" on the same line....leaving "until the wrath of God" to occupy a line by itself
also what do you think about changing " vast percussion thumping" to
percussion's vast thumping....
and finally i was wondering if "thick swaths of dancing music" might be altered to
thick swaths of dancing notes
as i said these are minor ideas for a solid poem, that I make because you were really looking for suggestions...best of luck with the revision
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
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- Posts: 630
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:09 am
Re: Magic (Revision 1)
saw, thanks for your suggestions. I will incorporate most of them in the poem a little later today.
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
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- Posts: 630
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:09 am
Re: Magic (Revision 1)
tap-tap
quick flips of paper
a swish of cloth
all heads magnetized
to one point
the man with a wand
it is magic
how a baton
thinner than a divining rod
or Moses’ mythical staff
can part the silence
and roar a swell of sound
with the slightest quiver
or grandest sweep.
Look how the arm attached is possessed,
a snake of sound follows motion’s instrument,
how the cloud of silence parts,
the vibration of sunlight blows through
heralding brass tubes
or moonlit merry piccolos
It is magic how a person
with nothing but a stick and his body-sway like a tree
in the Furioso of storm
can cause others
to expound a round of musical theme,
a volley in a war,
a rumble, grumble,
or so pianissimo
an enchanted faerie dance,
a tinkle of feet,
a fey wink, a pinch of sound
in the simmering melody
until the wrath of God
or human tragedy
rebounds, steams seriously,
explodes in grandiose procession,
percussion’s vast thumping,
stumping along a dark enchanted night
until the morning's twitter
of daily rivers
feather their movement
and the bows and strings wing
aspiration or sorrow
or the very timbre of joy itself.
O Magic
Mountain of Sound,
Fountain of Sound,
how from a thin reed
and the tap at the beginning,
a child's ear
not knowing the score,
or what a score is,
hears
out of thin air
thick swaths of dancing music,
as if the waving of the wand
sprinkled, deluged an ocean
of sound.
quick flips of paper
a swish of cloth
all heads magnetized
to one point
the man with a wand
it is magic
how a baton
thinner than a divining rod
or Moses’ mythical staff
can part the silence
and roar a swell of sound
with the slightest quiver
or grandest sweep.
Look how the arm attached is possessed,
a snake of sound follows motion’s instrument,
how the cloud of silence parts,
the vibration of sunlight blows through
heralding brass tubes
or moonlit merry piccolos
It is magic how a person
with nothing but a stick and his body-sway like a tree
in the Furioso of storm
can cause others
to expound a round of musical theme,
a volley in a war,
a rumble, grumble,
or so pianissimo
an enchanted faerie dance,
a tinkle of feet,
a fey wink, a pinch of sound
in the simmering melody
until the wrath of God
or human tragedy
rebounds, steams seriously,
explodes in grandiose procession,
percussion’s vast thumping,
stumping along a dark enchanted night
until the morning's twitter
of daily rivers
feather their movement
and the bows and strings wing
aspiration or sorrow
or the very timbre of joy itself.
O Magic
Mountain of Sound,
Fountain of Sound,
how from a thin reed
and the tap at the beginning,
a child's ear
not knowing the score,
or what a score is,
hears
out of thin air
thick swaths of dancing music,
as if the waving of the wand
sprinkled, deluged an ocean
of sound.
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
-
- Posts: 630
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:09 am
Re: Magic (Revision 1)
I've got more to do to get this right.
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
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