"gamba" poems
Dance is the devil's delight
as you well know.
Tis' often attended
by amorous smiles
unchaste kisses
wanton compliments
and lust-provoking attire.
This from the preacher William Prynne
a pure man and good.
Then comes one
Michael Praetorious
to celebrate this miasma
of corruption
this thing called dance
in the year of our Lord 1612
And to present a well-turned leg
as he lifts his partner's
slender hand
and gives us these joyous songs.
He brings us the recorder
Viola de gamba
tambourine and drum
to celebrate the pure
and frankly ******
pleasures of the dance.
As it happens
I am master of recorder
tambourine and drum.
Sadly born
in the wrong century
with my ears sewed on sideways.
It is strange to hear this world
through ears from the 17th century
to hold the thread of eternity
in one hand
while tapping four-four time
on a jangled skin drum
with the other.
Sometimes I wake in the night
and don't know where I am
in time.
Sometimes I put my lips
to a flute
and ancient airs whisper forth.
I dream of castellated cities
unknown to me
but eerily familiar.
Music is more ancient
than we are
it was here before us
and will be here
when humanity
has exhaled its last.
Of this much I'm certain.
So the music calls!
Dance to this joyous tune
heel and toe
heel and toe
step lightly on the boards!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
A single touch
Would break
My back and soul.
A touch to unload
All the burdens
These worn joints
Have been bearing.
Such a touch
Would cause my heart
To crumble.
Strong as an ox,
A horse, a water buffalo.
Fit as a fiddle,
A lute, a viola da gamba.
Happy as a clam,
A mussel, an Arctic quahog.
If only they knew
That a single touch
Would be my undoing,
Unraveling,
Fragmenting--
The one thing
That could make me
Breakdown.
If you knew...
Would your hand reach out
With all the care you could muster
To grasp my shoulder in support?
Would your arms invite
My head to lay across your breast
That I might cry out, alone no longer?
If you knew me,
Would you supply the touch
My soul desires?
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
Consider the cello, violin,
bass, gamba, guitar,
all fashioned
with strings that vibrate
into the air
and carry a harmonious
song to the ear
but only if the player
learns to tune
in harmonics.
Consider the heart, soul,
mind, emotions,
no tangible string
but vibrations nonetheless
and oft times not
harmonious at all
but biting, clamoring
for regard, never
realizing for so long
that tranquility more
easily tunes.
So familiarity
can breed learning to
tune ourselves until
our special one sweeps
in the door, or perhaps
just wondrously there
and we offer up
polyphony, faltering
and tenuous time and
time again.
Then unforeseen, a day
your solitary tone
verges mine
and we begin the weaving
of a new song
emerging harmonious,
complimentary
and vibrations sync,
just our symphony
heard for the first time.
So we nurture, listen
and respond with the
purest inside we have
to lend the chord.
And that
is how harmony is born
over and over again.
The air rings with it,
with sweet pause of silence
just so we know the song
when it's there.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC