*He explained to me he was a ghost,
for, as a composer, he had died years before.
He then described something of the trauma of his death.*
It was good to discover I was not alone,
that it could happen and one might really die
to this creative life.
Shall I describe something of the trauma of my dying?
I don’t think you’ll want to hear this, but I’ll tell you.
It’s been six months this dying;
I’m not quite dead.
I am still affected by music,
though it’s no longer my own.
If I think about this dying too much
I become distressed.
I can’t believe it’s happened.
The point is - if I try to compose
I am overcome with fatigue.
I can’t keep focused
on the problem of a piece
before fatigue sets in,
interrupts.
I should
place a line under what I’ve done.
It’s no little achievement this body of work.
Some days I like to imagine a monograph:
Nigel Morgan
*Metanoia to Sounding the Deep
(1988 – 2013).*
And what is there to say?
What aspect of musical invention
will the writer investigate and critically present?
I was once told I had
an experimental edge.
Well, what does it mean?
I’ve mined that seam;
I’ve been convinced; I’ve held the faith,
believed in what I did, the way I did it.
But faith has run its course
and every day that passes
the future retreats.
There is no music waiting in the wings.
I am tired, tired of it, tired with it all.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
*He explained to me he was a ghost,
for, as a composer, he had died years before.
He then described something of the trauma of his death.*
It was good to discover I was not alone,
that it could happen and one might really die
to this creative life.
Shall I describe something of the trauma of my dying?
I don’t think you’ll want to hear this, but I’ll tell you.
It’s been six months this dying;
I’m not quite dead.
I am still affected by music,
though it’s no longer my own.
If I think about this dying too much
I become distressed.
I can’t believe it’s happened.
The point is - if I try to compose
I am overcome with fatigue.
I can’t keep focused
on the problem of a piece
before fatigue sets in,
interrupts.
I should
place a line under what I’ve done.
It’s no little achievement this body of work.
Some days I like to imagine a monograph:
Nigel Morgan
*Metanoia to Sounding the Deep
(1988 – 2013).*
And what is there to say?
What aspect of musical invention
will the writer investigate and critically present?
I was once told I had
an experimental edge.
Well, what does it mean?
I’ve mined that seam;
I’ve been convinced; I’ve held the faith,
believed in what I did, the way I did it.
But faith has run its course
and every day that passes
the future retreats.
There is no music waiting in the wings.
I am tired, tired of it, tired with it all.
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