Monday, January 9, 2012

More Nostalgia

(Another photo from the archives)

My godson, Mike, just phoned us
So I'm sending this to him,
Although my memories of the event
 Are growing rather dim.
This was Michael's christening
And I was twenty-one.
He has now retired
And simply living to have fun.
He is over sixty;
His baby clothes don't fit.
As for me, now eighty,
I haven't changed a bit!


In the beginning was the sound.
The only instruments were
The ground upon which water dripped,
The rock against which fingers tapped,
The creak of the branches
One against the other.
Men heard it and were glad.
For rhythm
Was the essence of life itself.
They felt the rhythm within themselves,
And feet began to tap,
Hands to clap,
Fingers to click,
All in time to the rhythm.
Instruments came later.
And the instrument
Most closely recalling
The primitive rhythm
Is the guitar.
For only the guitar reinvents
The primeval accident.
The sharp metallic sound
Of fingers and strings
Seems elemental and chancy.
The notes are modern,
But, between the notes,
Falls the primitive accident.
Serendipitous sound
Litters the world
In which the Guitarist plays.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

A lovely photo !
You've hardly changed at all, Brenda.
More than can be said for me !