I was listening to Feist, and one of the lyrics in her song "I Feel It All" ("kick-drum on the basement floor") reminded me of a poem I had written a long time ago, so I dug it up and thought I'd copy it here. For Joel & Omar.
A borrowed guitar strikes arpeggios
as a saxophone glides through
into the receptive air and
resonates
off constricting walls, causing
the sound to glow
wider and wider
until the notes blend into
one.
The low, round sound of the bass
fills up the feet and
spreads like stove-heat,
giving weight to the music
so that it clouds out all thoughts and blocks out all distractions moving like
incense over the three men until they can't see themselves and they can't see
their worry and they sing like
snakes,
weaving a basket that carries them all
down
a
river of sound.
Howlongwereweplaying?, they wonder
after the last note dissipates
and they look at their hands
and look at each other
with a new kind of recognition,
and sit in silence:
the liturgy of divine ecstasy
leading to
meditation.
