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Fugal Harmonies
Softly chanted serpentinous neumes,
melodic levitation, heavenbound,
monotonal meditative sound;
a capella in medieval rooms.
Then Bach, delighting in the past, exhumes
archaic modes. His complex fugues expound
Fibonacci forms; the sacred ground
from which all propagates, unfolds and blooms.
God creates the world with subtle rhyme:
the howl of wolves, the freeze and melt of snow—
too, cryptic patterns cyclicly precise,
as the seas’ sussurus, pure lunar time.
Pious Bach seems tuned to nature’s grace;
his music sets its cadences aglow.
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Sinfonietta
A geranium sprig, my mother left behind,
her ebbing life the cause for its neglect.
I always hated gardening. I now suspect
her soul transmits injunctions to my mind.
For I’ve compulsively watered; also fed
crystal nutrients to that withered stem.
It’s burgeoned into green-leafed red-bloomed mayhem.
To what ebullience my daughterly care has led!
Dear mother, all those years I rolled my eyes
at your hearkening to the rhythms of the earth.
And now? To my singular awed surprise
these lusty plants are humming, giving birth
to psalms, delighting my formerly tone-deaf ears,
with the subtle music of God’s resplendent spheres.
.
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Mary Jane Myers resides in Springfield, Illinois. She is a retired JD/CPA tax specialist. Her debut short story collection Curious Affairs was published by Paul Dry Books in 2018.
These two beautiful poems about music from the masters and from nature are as enchanting as they are melodious with your superb vocabulary and rhymes that entrance and inspire.
Roy Eugene
Thank you for your kind comments. Music is one of my “preoccupations.”
Most sincerely Mary Jane
Awesome! I love anything referencing fugues. I hadn’t thought about how Bach mirrored nature. I also loved the clear progression of thought and a well struck conclusion.
Dear Daniel
Thank you for your comments. You and I seem to be fellow-fugue lovers. I recently managed to learn (not at a recital level, but with more skill than casual sight reading) Prelude and Fugue #21 from Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier Book 1. So I’ve been trying to put into words my appreciation of Bach. His work is mathematically precise and yet lyrically intense. A challenge to study and a joy to perform.
Most sincerely Mary Jane
If you are up for it — crazy man alert — I believe I have a way to translate fugues into text…
Ps. Bach was my first love as an educated amateur, but Beethoven is my current crush.
Daniel I’m intrigued! Have you developed a computer program? Send me an e-mail at [email protected]
Mary Jane,
I love the story you’ve told in your Sinfonietta (and I appreciate your reference to Fibonacci in Fugal Harmonies).
Thank you Anna! I appreciate so much your support of my poetry efforts.
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
Two great themes – nature and music – intertwine beautifully in these twinned poems. Like nature’s sprouting cellular creatures, perhaps music ascends exponentially. Your brilliant poetry made me ponder these popular topics in a new way. The poet is the chief beneficiary of her own poetry. We espy God when He enrolls us in creative acts. I fancy He reveals Himself best when we probe our place in nature.
Dear Hari
Thank you for your kind comments. I love the way you put it: that God “enrolls” us in creative acts. It seems that way, doesn’t it? When I write, I really do feel as if some spiritual presence is guiding me.
Sincerely, Mary Jane
‘Sinfonietta’ is a beautiful sonnet. It reminds me of my grandmother. She grew marigolds and geraniums every year. The tale of your mother’s relationship with nature and your journey to the harmonious wonder of God’s gifts is lovely. The last four lines of the sonnet have captured my heart.
Dear Susan
I am so gratified that “Sinfonietta” has touched your heart. This sonnet is autobiographical. I lost my mother in July 2022. I have been trying to find a way to express my grief in my poetry. Recently, I attended a one-day poetry writing seminar. The instructor told us to write down 5 objects, pick one, and then scribble away for 15 minutes. I jotted down “geraniums” and wrote 14 lines, woodenly rhymed. When I came home, I realized I had the makings of a poem.
Most sincerely Mary Jane