Music to Part the Veil
—on first hearing Mendelssohn’s 5th forty years ago.
The winter sun had just begun to light
the morning sky as I cranked up my car
to head back home. The group of men I met
with every Tuesday morning were as bright
as any men I’d ever known. They let
me lead their study, though they held it far
from where I lived, and it was always night
as I was coming out. The radio—
our local classics advocate, not that I knew
that much about such music, but I sought
to—had spun up a piece I did not know,
one filled with gloomy trepidation, fraught
with angst. I thought, This must be leading to
some big symphonic narrative. And so
I tried to pay attention as I drove
into the waking sun. Toward the end,
the tumult settled and resolved into
what seemed a frail “Amen.” But then it strove
for just a few more bars. I had no clue
where this was going, what it might portend,
or what was coming next. Just then, it dove
into a lilting rhythm, like a dance
or celebration of some sort. That’s weird,
I thought, to follow such uncertainty
with revelry. I felt my fingers prance
upon the steering wheel. I seemed to be
caught up in all this merriment and cheered
out loud and danced as best I could. What chance
this would continue? So I mused. And I
was right, for next a melancholy mood
took over from the dance and seemed to mock
or to curtail its revelry. The sky
was growing lighter now, as if to block
the sullen mood and all the attitude
of gloom it conjured, like a heaving sigh
of resignation heading toward despair.
The music swelled, a great widespread lament,
then settled back to loneliness again.
A fatalistic feeling filled the air,
as when the fondest hopes of desperate men
are dashed. The movement groaned with discontent,
and hopelessness abounded everywhere.
And then, without a break, the gloom played out,
and underneath it came a solo sound,
a flute—or so I thought. And wait! I knew
that tune: “Ein Feste Burg.” Was this about
to be a thing? Oh yes, it was. Then, two
wind instruments around each other wound,
and me? I felt as if I just might shout
out “Hallelujah!” any second. More
and more the music swelled in fugues and rounds,
assertive, confident, and bold as all
the instruments unleashed their brightest store
of melody, a rousing, glorious call
to arms! The more those old familiar sounds
compounded, growing sweeter than before,
the more I felt myself caught up within
the flow of something supernatural. I
was driving, but I wasn’t. I was being
swept up within the music’s current, in
a rapture that was full of joy and freeing
me from my earthly confines to some high
and holy site. The music was a thin
place for my soul, and underneath my feet
the current of the Living Water urges
me forward, upward to that radiant Mount,
from which bright rays abound, and singing, sweet
and awesome, pours forth as if from some fount.
“A mighty Fortress…” fills my brain and surges
throughout my soul! I raise my eyes to meet
the radiant Mount, my soul upwelling and
my right hand stretching forward as if I
could reach into the light…and then I know
it’s but the morning sun, which through a stand
of trees had broken with a sudden show
of light, illuminating all the sky
and spreading out to wake the sleeping land.
As Mendelssohn’s fifth symphony achieved
its summit and came to its rest upon
“His Kingdom is forever!” (or so I
imagined), I was filled with joy, relieved,
and close to tears. And then the morning sky
was bright. My glimpse beyond the veil was gone,
at least for then; and yet those moments cleaved
unto my soul, and I was stretched somehow.
I gave to God abundant thanks and praise
for music that transports me through the veil,
such music as can make me glad to bow
my heart’s knee and surmount the earth-bound pale
of my existence, and exalt my gaze
to there and then in all my here and now.
T. M. Moore is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, a spiritual fellowship in the Celtic Christian tradition. He and his wife and editor, Susie, make their home in the Champlain Valley of Vermont.
T.M., you poem has already made my day (and it’s still early in the morning!) How beautifully you interweave description of the music — and the otherworldly power it has to move us — with the meaningful scenery of sunrise! “The music’s current” of many moods, and the current of your poem, swept me right along as if I were hearing the music as I read this mighty fortress of a poem. Music surely can transport us “through the veil” like nothing else can. Your final line is a marvelous, perfect conclusion.
Music can indeed transport us to another realm as did your heavenly poetry.
What a delightful poem! One feels an emerging discovery of a passage through the veil, shepherded by the “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” hymn, from flute to full orchestra.
Mendelssohn is – inexplicably – rather out of fashion amongst the British musical establishment, who seem to regard him as second rate in some way. So I’m particularly pleased by this celebration of one his masterpieces. You take us through each stage of the work, documenting your reactions to it and linking the whole experience to the accompanying sunrise. An interesting and enjoyable read, TM – thank you.
Every artist today is judged politically, not by his aesthetic achievement. Mendelssohn was conservative in his musical preferences, and totally at home in establishment circles. He was even friendly with Queen Victoria. Today that makes him a traitor to left-liberalism in the eyes of a totally left-wing musical establishment.
How ironic that his work was also dismissed by some Germans, and by all the Nazis, because of his Jewish heritage. The guy couldn’t catch a break.
All y’all:
Thanks for the encouragement. Joe, thanks for the additional insight on M.
A multi-layered rendering of the symphony on your part, T. M. Describing the sweep of emotional experience in first hearing it–when not well versed in music, but quite open to learning. It happens at a particular point in life, and in personal associations, all of which come into the poem. The recognition of a known theme seems to be the “hand” that at least began to “part the veil.” Your careful but implicit attention to progression in the spirit enriches your account, one that I’m sure you’re glad to have written, to strengthen a memory already long preserved. And to remind readers of our own moments of musical revelation!
Your poem grabbed my attention and was enjoyable to read and relive your road trip experience. What a treat.
A beautiful poem, T.M., even more so on re-reading. Thank you for it.
Thank you all, very much. And thanks to Evan for his consistently excellent work in shepherding this site. T. M.
Enjoyed your poem. I recently saw this symphony performed by the Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional (the 2nd oldest in North America) at Belles Artes in Mexico City to a standing ovation. Phenomenal.
It is. I enjoy listening to it more each time. Thanks for your kind word, Geoffrey.
A beautiful piece on the power of music. That you captured this experience from 40 years ago is testament to that power and its impact on you.
An interesting piece to inspire the poem, to say the least. This symphony had a rough time getting off the ground. It was commissioned for the 300th anniversary of the council of Augsburg, but its first two performances were canceled due to objections from both the orchestra and the Catholic Church. It finally got a performance in Berlin four years later, and was effectively forgotten about until well after Mendelssohn‘s death. Many of the works we now recognize as great were either ignored or disparaged in their own time.
No surprise there. Consider the critical savaging that was given to “La Boheme” and to “Carmen” when they premiered.
Thanks, Adam. I read that Mendelssohn wanted to destroy the piece at one point, only to have it rescued by a sister, I think?