I still remember that evening, I believe it was 2004, in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. In town, there’s an old general store where the back room turns magical every Thursday evening. Jay Hurley found his purpose in Saving Americana. It was on my second trip, a work assignment at the Fish and Wildlife Training Center, when a staffer at the training center suggested we go hear the music at the Shepherdstown general store.
I wandered past pots, screws, and crank meat grinders on the shelves of an old-timey store, where I asked the man at the counter about the evening’s music, and he pointed me toward a back door. There were chairs, about two rows, set around the edges of a large room, and as I sat and chatted with new acquaintances, musicians straggled in with their instruments.
Now, let me say I’m no expert on music, and that lack of knowledge is thoroughly confessed in my poem “Regrets.”
Regrets
So many, of course, like the days I roared at the children
when there would have been a gentler way,
all the times I said ‘yes,’ when it should’ve been ‘nay,’
and I won’t give you details, or we’d be here all day.
But I truly regret not learning a note: no music, no song,
no instrument. It’s as if I’m in a foreign land where my son
rings the bells and played the drums, and his sister belted out songs,
where my youngest could jazz out on a mellow bassoon
and my grandchildren have followed that lyrical path where I forked
the wrong way, where Abuela doesn’t know a staff from staccato,
where my progeny marches and plays and plays and plays
in a land where magic connects with conspiracy and I’m merely
clueless a largo.
—Sandra Fox Murphy
Thus, I wish I could say more about the music that night, but, truly, the moments were as much about community as the room full of instruments and melodies. Many musicians, men and women, young and old, knew each other—some, I’m certain, from only these weekly gatherings. The delight that emanated from these artists late into the evening was, at the very least, a blessing. Full of feeling. I loved watching the men playing their hammered dulcimers, sitting right in front of me. All the instruments showed up. I believe there was even a harp. Someone would call out a song, and immediately the musicians would be strumming or tapping or blowing into a reed or horn. Then the singing. Magical. When I left late that night, I believe I was floating.
Of course, poetry and music are surely first cousins. One of my best-loved poets, Loretta Diane Walker, a Texan, was a music teacher in Odessa, in the harsh Permian Basin. Much of her poetry sings of the west deserts, but here’s an excerpt from “Transformation” where her love of music shines.
…
I am a violin string, too.
The woman I am now
Is not the woman
I will always be.
With each song of day,
I must be re-tuned.
—excerpt from “Transformation” by Loretta Diane Walker (read the whole poem in the collection Desert Light)
Like a scent, it is startling how quickly a melody can carry us to a moment from the past, such as in D. H. Lawrence’s poem Piano.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home ….
Time and place can be rooted deeply in a song. As I wrote the story of three friends in Dalhart, Texas in the 1950s, the music of the time kept showing up, so I created a playlist. The songs of Hank Williams and Jim Reeves carried me straight to those days, and Roger Miller’s work takes me straight to the Texas Panhandle. In the poem Music by Sir Walter de la Mare, he outlines the salve of a tune and how it stirs our “dwelling place.”
We all have our unique tastes in music. I like music that touches my heart, a charmed tune where the lyrics speak to me. Some of my favorites: Eva Cassidy, Van Morrison, Nancy Griffith, Iris de Ment, and then there’s Cedric Watson’s Cajun music that takes me to the roots of the deep south. A writing friend, Dan, introduced me to Watson, showing a video of him playing a gourd banjo, and then I discovered Watson’s bijou creole and zydeco. And bluegrass, so prevalent in that songfest in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, is a staunch favorite of mine, and from Gabriel Gomez’s poem Bluegrass:
… but you knew that
Having learned tablature
The guitar posed in sculpture
Clear its throat by reaching the oval gap flushed
Against stomach into its curious sound
Gather fingers around an inexhaustible voice and play the strings ….
—excerpt of “Bluegrass” by Gabriel Gomez (read the whole poem)
So, when music touches one’s heart, is it healing? Certainly, we are all, at times, soothed by music. Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “I Am in Need of Music” reflects the healing of music.
There is magic made by melody:
A spell of rest and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep ….
—excerpt of “I Am in Need of Music” by Elizabeth Bishop
In my poem above, “Regrets,” you see that my kids and grandkids love music, so I’m no stranger to marching bands, concerts, and drum corps, and here, I captured the image of a neighborhood wake-up march:
The God’s Eye View
Oh, little drone, whirring
above with the starlings
watching the girls
and boys gather,
form into lines, tune up
their tubas and clarinets.
One – two – three …
and like little ants,
spied from a plastic eye
clicking aloft,
they march in step
puffing out notes
carried high
into a blue morning
sky, drumsticks tap
the pageant’s beat
and step. Patterns,
caught on camera,
awkward, noncommittal
… autocorrected
and booming Sousa
to wake the day.
—Sandra Fox Murphy
To close, I return to Loretta Diane Walker and her playful poem “If Mozart Were a West Texan” from In This House:
At sunset, he’d listen to Bach’s Suite No. 3 en ré majeur (in D Major)
while night, a black wolf, howled on the horizon
and licked up light.
He’d study a dark constellation of grackles
strung out on telephone wires.
—excerpt of “If Mozart Were a West Texan” by Loretta Diane Walker (read the whole poem in the collection In this House)
And again, from the late Walker, a moving excerpt from her poem “The Ancient.”
Luminous hands drum
the rough pine box,
his voice, soft like blue, chants:
These are the words you fear,
have not spoken, wished you knew.
—excerpt from “The Ancient” by Loretta Diane Walker (read the whole poem)
Your Turn
What song or artist takes you back to a special time or person? What would your playlist sound like? Are there songs or artists that wrap you in well-being, soothe your soul? Write a poem to answer any of these questions. I wish you melodies and lyrics to carry you to lovely places and meaningful memories.
Post photo by Abby Gillardi, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Sandra Fox Murphy.
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Bethany R. says
“I wish I could say more about the music that night, but, truly, the moments were as much about community as the room full of instruments and melodies.”
I love this. Taking part in life-stirring and life-giving community is precious and magical.
I was also struck by the exerpt you shared from “Transformation,”
“With each song of day
I must be re-tuned”
I want to memorize this.
Thank you for this beautiful tapestry of tunes and textures, Sandy.
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Thank you, Bethany. I’m glad you liked Walker’s work, and I wish I could share her poem “Transformation,” but it’s only in her book Desert Light. I love her vivid poetry about Texas, but here’s a poem of hers you might enjoy.
https://www.texaspoetryassignment.org/ars-poetica/poetry-is
Bethany says
Thanks so much for sharing that, Sandy. Beautiful poem.
L.L. Barkat says
Sandra, I love this. Music is both a joy and a solace, and you’ve captured that beautifully. It’s making me think about what I might want to listen to next. Thank you 🙂
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Thanks, Laura. I do need to just put on the headphones and listen more often.
Katie Spivey Brewster says
lyrics speak, saying
listen to my words and the tunes
hear the soft comfort
Love me some John Denver, James Taylor
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Yes! Nice choices. I could visualize John Denver at one of those folk get-togethers at the general store.
Megan Willome says
For a non-musician, you’ve got a great collection of music poems in here!
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Thanks to all the poets! But I do enjoy listening to music, favorite muscicians; I love to write my stories listening to the soundtrack of All the Pretty Horses!
Laura Boggess says
So much goodness in this post, Sandra! I’ve been to Shepherdstown but missed the memo about the backroom music. It certainly does sound like a magical night. Thank you for introducing me to Loretta Diane Walker, the bits of her work you share here have me wanting more. I have that same regret as you but also share the experience of years watching my son in marching band, sitting outside the room during guitar and drum lessons. At least we are leaving more music for the world in that way, right?
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Amen, Laura. I think you’d enjoy Walker’s book Desert Light and her chapbook From a Cow’s Eye and Other Poems. Such a love of Texas and poetry from a music teacher. I have not read her last collection, Ode to My Mother’s Voice.