Largo ma non tanto

Those were the lessons
of the most lovely song . . .

the voice lugged by handle
worn to wire's skeletal curve
through loft overlooking pews'
dim lines and one red jewel
of everlasting light.

In that holy place,
for months I rubbed
the same phrases,
trying to wing life
from box and strings,
taught by a woman
refined, perseverant,
and indefinably sad.

But I was little more than eleven
and could not reach.

Hallelujah

I love this recording by friends Arija and Laura

https://soundcloud.com/arija-1/hallelujah

Night Hunting

Robins warble, whistle up and down
the thinnest light, flick sedate riffs
of second soprano lines, harmonize
the scattering of night and the silhouette
of day gathered to pounce.

Confession

Before clipping,
white tips measure,
bluntly, the time since
fingers last touched strings.
Each bright click marks
a sin of omission confessed,
a repentance.

I lift my violin -- tiger nut
from black hull-case --
and feel, between shoulder
and neck, the forgotten vibrations
of life renewed.

"Jesus Loves Me" ~ a homespun song for the night

https://soundcloud.com/barnswallowblogger/jesus-loves-me-imperfect

This is a link to "Jesus Loves Me." Today, a friend asked if I was playing my violin at all. I told her no. But she got me thinking, and I don't believe I'm ready to put the instrument to rest just yet. My rendition has flaws, put perhaps you may enjoy listening. Just take it as a song between friends, from my living room to yours.

A Song and Prayer for Tonight

These lyrics by James Quinn were adapted from Saint Patrick's Breastplate. My dad particularly liked this song's meaningful simplicity.

Going / Back

The present, is it like performing a
recital piece? Or like the way one knits
a scarf? Lithe armor wards the cold away,
each link a piece of all the whole, no slits
to break the one long thread of notes or yarn.
So much the same, with yet a difference--
a song must not be stopped, must always yearn
inside each dancing now, the dissonance
of error slid from mind already drenched
in this next moment. Knitting is not so.
One old, forgotten stitch means long rows wrenched
to crimped string till the cloth is whole. Each soul's
agape with stitches dropped and melodies
and hunger for the hope that never dies.

Restart

Don't be afraid to try again . . .
to brave the imperfections
of being out of practice.

Surely if we knew all the songs
exiled in attics and garages,
rejected like old cassette tapes,

the trumpets and clarinets,
guitars and cellos interred
in fuzzy cases--

we could afford to lose
our tired practicality;
we'd endure a thousand

rusty notes to fly again
even one precious, broken tune.
Do not be afraid to relearn

your music.

Peepers In Spring ~ a song

In need of a reminder Spring's certain approach despite apparent setbacks, I'm posting this song. "Peepers in Spring" was inspired by lore passed down by my grandpa, an Illinois farmer: "The peepers have to be froze in three times before Spring is here to stay."

Both voice and sound recording are amateur, but I enjoyed creating this and wanted to share the song. 

Lyrics:

Down in the waterway under the trees,

little frog peepers wake up from their sleep,

crawl from the cozy mud into the cold,

vibrate their tender throats, cheerful and bold.

Peepers in spring, peepers in spring,

snows that wither and frosts that sting.

Peepers in spring, peepers in spring,

come again rising, peepers in spring.

Heeding a warning so sharp and so chill,

hiding as winter comes back for the kill,

peepers get frozen beneath their mud doors--

then, piping, come again, ready for more.

Once—and the world cracks open one eye,

closes it wearily, utters a sigh.

Twice—and our hopes go soaring, then crash.

Three times and spring time arrives here at last!

So never give up in the freeze and the thaw.

Days will be filled up with red-wingeds’ song.

All the dead earth will grow emerald green.
Just you remember those peepers in spring!

"Without Running Away" by Jason Gray

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QS_7cjIk4k0

Bob Devlin's Sacred Music For Kids

As a child, I often fell asleep to the comforting music of a couple gray cassette tapes. The cassette tapes deteriorated, as that out-moded form is want to do, but I still remembered them fondly. Last year, I googled the names of the cassette tapes to see if I could track down replacements. Lo and behold, For the Shepherd's Children and Circle of Love were albums by a man named Bob Devlin, and his widow, Jesse Devlin, was in the process of making them available on the internet!

And now, friends, the albums are here, and you can listen, too! Maybe I'm nostalgic, but I think these songs warm the soul.

Here are the links:
For the Shepherd's Children

and

Circle of Love