Crystals in the arms and in the liver. You need them to resonate.Be careful. You never know what feeds off them.
A melody that cycles and returns. It can be strengthtened and tinted, and almost heard, and yet it amounts to a barely-there feeling, more quiet and peaceful than a dream.The piece was heard by many. The composer doesn't know where it was born.
Even in the darkness I see the shapes of music. They may escape through the moon.And yet they linger.
The body is loud at night, drinking is loud. Gulping, gasping, beating of the heart. Veins or pipes, it doesn't matter. The sounds pile atop each other, curling around the ears, a WATERFALL.
When hearing lingers, it first reaches the muscles and then the head. Before the sounds get processed,translated into the perfect speech of the mind, they sink through body and go into the eyes.
My mind is filled to the brim with a melody. It's like pouring water to drink in the darkness.Sticking a finger into the cup, waiting at the pipes. It's touching. The water climbs and climbs.
Inspired by Couperin, Messe pour le Paroisseshttps://youtu.be/iK2qERtPkOQ
CROAK OF DAWN
At five o'clock in the morningA man still plays at the cloister cathedralThe organ groans steadilyThe walls start to sweat in the sunIt's very cold in summerThe night blows through candles quicklyThe organist doesn't waste paperhe takes in the music flowing through his fingersHe'll carry it out of the darknessInto the airless county churchesService starts at five thirty thoughHe takes off his coat and leaves
Angel of Light symphony by Rautavaara https://youtu.be/aRa6-wRU7T4
Angel of lightCoils his wings around the worldThe clouds are ripped apartThe rain is stilled. Silence.The golden eye opensMouths slacken in reverieHuman skin sings so softlyIt cannot be heard at all.
I saw you in the black spotsThat the sun left in my eyesIn the middle of the strawberry plotYou were dancingYou had wings as largeAs the old cherry tree, pillar of the gardenAnd on your face was the smileOf a bee robbing a flowerin truth you were madeFrom grass weeds molded leavesIn the dried out eyes and heat struck brainOf a worker on a humorless dayAnd your gown flutteredIn the slight wind and dissolvedAs I drunk from a bottle of lukewarm waterWith half -closed eyes like the orbs of a moon
"Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard"