Guest poem submitted by Sashidhar Dandamudi:
(Poem #1334) Where Everything Is Music
Don't worry about saving these songs! And if one of our instruments breaks, it doesn't matter. We have fallen into the place where everything is music. The strumming and the flute notes rise into the atmosphere, and even if the whole world's harp should burn up, there will still be hidden instruments playing. So the candle flickers and goes out. We have a piece of flint, and a spark. This singing art is sea foam. The graceful movements come from a pearl somewhere on the ocean floor. Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting! They derive from a slow and powerful root that we can't see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.
Translated by Coleman Barks. Mallika's "song" bought this fantastic poem up from memory. Even though I can't claim to have memorized it, the last verse has been a long time favourite of mine. Also since summer, usually for me, consists of absorbing a dose of live music as it happens around the city, often a time I remembered song at those moments of transendent guitar riffs, when I could only open the window in the center of my chest and let the spirits fly in and out! Onwards! Sashi Notes: This poem was a part of the PBS Program "Fooling with Words". I would also reccomend the viewers to go listen and view to "Jump Mama" here: http://www.pbs.org/wnet/foolingwithwords/main_video.html