by Rose Mary Boehm
Our earth is humming.
Enormous, swirling loops of sound.
Very low key. Not for our ears.
The water churns against stone,
rocks move against rock. A potpourri
of vibrations--not concerned with the golden rules
of tonal phrasing--are echoed between mountains,
are bowled across oceans and penetrate tectonic plates.
Male humpback whales, the ‘inveterate composers’
of songs 'strikingly similar to human musical traditions’.
They sing only on calving grounds.
Very low key. Not for our ears.
We have organized sound and called it music.
Made it less daunting; ‘civilized’ what would otherwise
overwhelm. Millions of years of the planet's pulse
corseted into meter and tempo, pitch, melody,
harmony… an attempt to control our apprehensions.
Still, I turn my stereo to full volume. Vivaldi's concerto
for mandolin, strings and basso continuo
in C major will soon bring the neighbor
to my door complaining about that awful noise.
A German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives and works in Lima, Peru. Author of two novels and a poetry collection (TANGENTS) published in 2011 in the UK, her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in a good two dozen US poetry reviews as well as some print anthologies, and Diane Lockward’s The Crafty Poet. She won third price in in the 2009 Margaret Reid Poetry Contest for Traditional Verse (US), was semi-finalist in the Naugatuck poetry contest 2012/13 and has been a finalist in several GR contests, winning it in October 2014.
