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02.18.12 : Careful Descent

It rained all day, off and on. Warm Florida rain, the kind I remember from when I was a little kid in St. Petersburg.

The wind picked up around five o’clock, and by six the lightning and thunder had begun for the night. It still hasn’t stopped. Oh, how I love thunderstorms!

I decided to stick with the same “technoish” vibe for today’s song, but added a little bit of what it actually sounded like here in the house where I was recording it:

I’ve been re-reading “Velocities: New and Selected Poems: 1966-1992″ by Stephen Dobyns, one of my favorite poets, whom I accidentally stumbled upon in my college library while trying to find a poet to write a report about for one of my classes, many moons ago. Every time I read his stuff, it makes me want to write again:

All winter you felt nothing. As your body
continued its necessary tasks, your sister,
the snow, remained keeper of your heart.
Now it’s the first warm day of spring.
You walk out to the pasture. There’s much mud,
and still snow on the north side by the pines.
You take this poem from your pocket.
Raising your voice, you read it aloud to the sky.
Soon birds being to come, first the dark ones:
birds of anger, birds of despair. Then you see
the wren of friendship, the gray dove of hope;
then others of patience, joy and love’s own red bird.
As you read, they begin to fill the air above you,
twisting and diving in great circles around you;
covering the poem with the sound of their cries
until poem and song become the same sound,
blending together under the warm March sun.
At last you emerge from the lethargy of winter.
Your heart is a great tree beginning to bud.
In narrowing spirals, careful descent, the birds
you have summoned arrive to make their nests.

“Song For Making the Birds Come”
by Stephen Dobyns
From Heat Death (1980)