Music - finding my way back and forward - 2

It's time for overdue realisations.

First, it seems to me that music at its deepest is about human connection.  This is what I was going to write about in the first place.  Although it's related to what I am actually going to write about, as a topic of its own it will have to wait for another post now because  

Second, this morning I was listening to Ed Sheeran's version of "The Parting Glass", (studio version, hidden track at the end of Track 12 on the album "+") and realised the song is about dying.  I'd thought it was about someone leaving for Australia or America or another of the many places Irish people have looked for a better life.  I've always loved the song.  Having realised it's meaning, I looked it up on the net and found that of course it's sung at funerals.  Why on earth wouldn't anyone see that?  Duh!  Then I researched, fairly thoroughly, other versions of the song on YouTube and found none that move me as much as Ed Sheeran's.

I was using the shuffle function on the playlist "Gentle" on my iPod and The Parting Glass was followed by the sublime Adagio for strings by Samuel Barber.  I'm slightly put off including it in my own funeral wishes by the number of hits it gets on Google for just that purpose but I did find one entry which says the music goes from sadness to joy.  Not sure on this one as I never like to follow the crowd.  But I guess every so often the crowd displays good taste.  And as a pair of pieces back to back, I've rarely come across anything better.  After the pure sadness of The Parting Glass, the adagio just fills you right back up again with peace.

This morning was by way of an experiment, listening to music while eating breakfast at the table and reading the latest issue of The Simple Things.  Previously, I've been doing this sans music but it occurred to me that much of my life is now silent and I might be happier if it wasn't.  I'd say the experiment was a success.  The downside is that I've only got this one Gentle playlist which will really suit the mood of Sunday breakfast.  Perhaps I'll add to it more often, but just now the playlist looks like this:

Music - finding my way back, and forward - 1

 

It was a kitchen fitter who put me on to a Minirig speaker.  I was bemoaning the fact that an electrician had fitted ONE speaker wire from the living room to the kitchen (where I hope one day to entertain) which was as much use as the proverbial [insert own proverbial adjective and noun here] to pipe music from the CD player to the kitchen.  "You need a Minirig speaker," the kitchen fitter said.  

The speaker wasn't cheap at around £150 but it's been the best music-related buy I've ever made.  It's small - about 10cms diameter and 8cms high - but the sound is amazing.  Even at full volume (which is too much to have next to you if you want anything else, e.g. your own voice, to be heard) it is not in the slightest bit tinny.  It's rechargeable and links by bluetooth to your device.  My device of choice is my iPod Touch.  Because of it's portability, the speaker is immensely flexible.  I can place it on the corner of a chest of drawers in the study and it easily feeds music to all the adjacent rooms, or I can turn the volume down and place it near where I'm working to have concentrated loveliness. 

As I discover what it's really like to live in my new house I also discover ways to listen to music and so far that's mostly via the iPod and Minirig.  When I'm working (actual "work" or tasks like cooking, see otherwise random top photo) I set the iPod to "Songs" and "Shuffle".  From time to time I save a track to a playlist.  Some of my playlists are well-populated, like "One".  This was, unsurprisingly, the first playlist I made.   What an original title!  I made it to listen to on the long journeys (in a taxi, down to Littlehampton and then home again) and it's made up of mostly just luscious tracks.  It began as just a list made of specially picked tracks from some albums on my list of albums but now using the shuffle method I add to it all the time.

I hope you find it interesting and possibly you may choose to try some of the music if you don't already know it.

Why I love Christmas, by an atheist

 This isn't really a sad poem, or at least it isn't meant to be.  It's a poem that comes the nearest to explaining why I, as an atheist, still love Christmas and even the religious bits.

Christmas Eve

Travelling, I made sure to arrive by the start
of nine lessons and carols on Radio 4,
Dad poised to prepare sprouts, painstakingly
as a military man would,
Mum doing something not requiring machinery
and in earlier years, Aunt Jane
talking over all the quiet, meaningful moments
for all she was worth.

This Christian service for a Christian festival
still holds meaning for an atheist of forty years,
linking me to generations of family believers
and to others, non-believers, alike.

Now I build my own collection
of seasonal traditions: trifle for one;
roast turkey with trimmings
for one, or more if anyone cares to join me;
holly and ivy and red ribbons and candles;
cards posted expensively to friends;
extra phone calls, gifts, tree, fairy lights;
Jacqui Lawson advent calendar;
Terry’s milk chocolate orange in memory of Dad,
who had one every year and
I slip into the past again
all of us singing along to the carols we knew,
Mum’s clear soprano, my alto
and Dad managing the descant still
here I am, listening, and weeping
for them, and for lovers and friends

human connections
which, like the number 42, hold
the answer to life, the universe and everything
tears heralding grief
and hope
and the start of it all.

Happy Writing

Here's a poem about the question I often ask myself.  

Happy Writing
 
Why don’t I write on happy stuff
instead of being inspired by grief
or when times are really rough?
I could describe a lovely leaf
 
or sunsets making my heart burst.
Why is my utmost misery
the spur for writing my best verse
and posting it for all to see?
 
Why did I write two good prose pieces
on funerals, grief and poetry,
published in national magazines?
Why nothing else for folks to see?
 
Well, here is one and you can tell
it’s not much good, although it rhymes,
so lack of poems can only spell
the advent of much happier times.

Unstable

Unstable

UN-stabul as Mum used to say it
in her own invented
language and pronunciation
like raddy-otta-meez.
And why not.
 
“English also spoken here”
Dad said there should be a sign
on the front door
when they were first married
but he became bilingual.
 
So today I know I am living
through a time when things are
un-stabul for me,  unstabul
without my mum and my dad
and my Mike
 
who saw “breaded plaice” as
bearded plaice, which it fast
became with parents, carers
and now still me. 
They never met
 
but on the phone discussed how
a single grain of rice was a rouce:
Mum thought not but
Mike was adamant
about his invention.
 
My new house-to-be is full of labradors
and other tradesmen.
The architrave fades into less significance
compared to the builder, Jason, and
all his argonauts
 
and I am tossed around in an unstable
world, missing all three of them
feeling out of touch with my
linguistic roots and routes
through the maze of decisions
 
being uprooted myself just enough
so I am now unstable
ready to be blown down in the wind
or washed away in a rainstorm
or undermined by something small.

Leslie Wynne Prescot

28/05/1927 - 16/10/2020

Anthea Warwick Prescot

07/07/1928 - 28/11/2020

Mike Hitchens

07/12/1943 - 11/07/2023

Traffic

 

Traffic
 
I have been stuck in a traffic jam
cars and vans and lorries and bikes
jumbled up unable to make their way
forward
 
jostling for position for the getaway
nothing progressed at all for months
and all I could do was identify the
vehicles
 
that were all the many stresses in my life
not being able to focus on any one of them
compounding the stress and the traffic
jam.
 
Suddenly an acupuncturist or an osteopath,
almost certainly, has shown one vehicle how
to navigate out of the melee and start a
journey
 
making a space for the next vehicle to
straighten up and leave, like one of those puzzles
with only one space but the corner shape must
exit
 
and now all the vehicles are moving
each in a separate lane on the motorway
(though the bikes must make their by another
route.)
 
All the types of vehicle are still present
but moving at their own pace
at variable speeds stopping and starting
individually
 
and I have clarity at last
and I am back in my own body
and in my own head and I have found
myself.

Seeing the Real You at Last

 
Seeing The Real You At Last
 
today I have a glimpse of the real you at last
“we know a song about that”
(sorry Bob) in my grief
 
today you are present in that way
that dead people have
when they have got into your soul
and I comprehend the hugeness of it all
 
I hear myself reeling off
“my partner died, then Covid struck,
then I broke my shoulder, then …”
as if bereavement was a small thing
(but it is vast)
 
and at last I allow myself to consider
what my therapist would have asked,
(she, the wise woman who questioned ‘accidents’)
 
and I see, really see in that
bone-deep, mind-expanding way
 
that my lack of attention before I tripped,
“doing marvellously” when I had Covid
(the first and second time)
and generally carrying on
stoically
 
yes, stoic(ally), that thing
I never am and wouldn’t do me any good
(and hasn’t)
 
I carried on stoically,
believing I was still doing really well considering
but putting off the day
 
pointlessly, painfully, but somehow
always knowing the day would come
 
when I see the real you at last
(again) and have to grieve