I came across this poem on one of my favorite blogs O at the Edges.
I love the image of the wave losing itself in dispersal only to rise again, just as music does in the playing, even in the inner repetitions, remaking itself.
Just as memory does, rising from mysterious depths only to disappear again.
Like murmuring starlings, spilling patterns across the sky.
So much “self-similarity” weaving this world together.
I leave you with three gifts: the poem that inspired me, the music that inspired him, and the wonder of murmuring birds.
By Robert Ojaki
That it begins.
And like a wave which appears
only to lose itself
in dispersal, rising whole again
yet incomplete in all but
form, it returns.
Music. The true magic.
Each day the sun passes over the river,
bringing warmth to it. Such
devotion inspires movement: a cello in the
darkness, the passage of sparrows. Sighs.
The currents are of our own
making. If we listen do we also
hear? These bodies. These silent voices.
* * *
“Requiem” was written in the 80s, in response to John Rutter’s Requiem.