On the fourth floor of the art gallery
there is an installation piece
And it doesn't look like anything
special, tucked off to the side
of all those mammoth Moores
Just a wide circle of small speakers
on tall poles; there must be
And in the centre
shoved every which way...
maybe a dozen or so, black
stools -- the faux leather type
with the folding chrome legs?
Feeling almost foolish, I sink
onto one of the stools and strain
to hear the speakers...nothing.
I have an urge to giggle but
The sun streaming in here,
is pale as moonshine
I am thinking,
just as I get a sense
of chattering from one
of the speakers--
Am I going crazy?
Then, a thousand angel voices
shatter the space!
Higher than the highest sopranos over here;
blending with the deepest basso profundo there, no--there!
No--it's those sublime tenors back there I think, no wait...
I stop trying to sort out, define, categorize and just
let the reverberations, echoes, resonances...all of it
Scoop out my soul and cut free my sentient self
I close my eyes and for the next
--who knows how long--
I give myself up to this wondrous sound, only sound
seems too plebeian a word to describe
what holds me so enthralled...
And when it's finished, the silence is a sound itself
So totally different and fraught with meaning is it
I feel as if an enormous load has shifted from me
A load I knew not I was toting, but now it splits
from me so completely I'm lighter and leaving
is like waking from deep sleep and crawling
from inside a dark cave...