Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MUSIC; TO ETHEL BARTLETT AND RAE ROBERTSON (AFTER THEIR CONCERT), by JOHN FREEMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MUSIC; TO ETHEL BARTLETT AND RAE ROBERTSON (AFTER THEIR CONCERT), by                 Poet's Biography
First Line: This was not music. Music is but notes
Last Line: And fears of mortal ill.
Subject(s): Barlett, Ethel (1896-1978); Duopianists; Music & Musicians; Robertson, Rae (1893-1956); Symphonies; Concerts


THIS was not music. Music is but notes
Crawling like ants across the crumpled page.
But this was flowers, February's daring buds
Confronting Winter's rage.
This was not music, a tense repeated tapping,
Hammer on wire: this was the wind stepping
From hill to green-furred hill.

This was a wood, taking the wind's loud crash;
Or clouds, high-riding the west hemisphere.
This was not music's hoarse laborious drone
That speaks but to the ear.
—No, this was water down a steep cliff falling
Perpetually—falling, leaping and falling
Down cliffs steep, dark and chill.

Here were the waters of the seas upgathered
In one Hand archangelic, caught and furled
A moment in a cloud, then slowly loosed
Upon the hushing world;
Then in a snare of sunny channels caught,
To purge the pestilence of mortal thought,
And fears of mortal ill.





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