Music is an ocean that covers the world,
An element that lets you drown in air.
It moves beyond time, rocks with rhythm,
Speaks for itself with sweet tongued tunes,
With a wierd wordless eloquence,
With a primitive chaotic power.
It is everywhere,
International in tone,
Atonal, harmonic,
Dodecaphonic;
Concerted in effort, symphonic,
Or absolutely simple and singable.
Those old wives' tales, the ballads,
Unfold ancient stories
That stall for time,
Submerge themselves.
Into the same ocean drop the names
Of the great ones whose tunes
Call out to posterity,
Beckon like bells:
Bach to Berg and beyond.
Music has no frontiers,
Being an embraceable art,
And so alongside Stravinksy
Is Elvis intoning the sameraw truth
That takes the edge off the emotions.
And you , dear Bob, with your headphones on,
Saturating yourself in Verdi and Rossini,
Are recieving and returnig
The message of music
Which is that our species
Can, by listening, survive.
(For Bob Giddings) (1983)
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