A Time Before Poem by Daniel Brick
A Time Before
for Kathinka
There was a time before
you became a flutist,
your beloved flute did not yet
accompany your life. When was
the moment of discovery? Perhaps
the child Kathinka dreamed
of playing the flute, like an adept,
nimble fingers racing through scales
and effortless arpeggios. Did you see
flashes of your future self
in those years of preparation?
Or did you turn instead to other delights:
butterflies, a flower patch, games of skill
and chance, quiet moments with an older relative
who comforted you...
Music was already shaping your future self.
It made you promises that took up
residence in your heart and opened
your awakening mind to its vastness,
like an inland sea, whose rolling waves
matched the tides of your being.
Your lips never touch the flute itself:
a column of tremulous breath crosses
a tiny gap, enters the flute, and
is transformed into the music you love.
The music is thus composed of you.
Who can measure the abundance of
truth and beauty that comes forth
as sounds and colors?
There was a time before Stockhausen
wrote KATHINKA'S CHANT. But the essence
of that music was already inside of you,
and your flute had waited patiently
for your breath to release this treasure
to the world. Its vibrations still swirl
around and into us. The sounds and colors
of one memorable performance, traveling
at the combined speeds of sound and light,
will soon arrive in the precincts of Alpha Centauri.
daniel, several things on reading this. one, i had never even read or heard the name kathinka, but i easily stayed with the poem from start to finish (me who tends towards brevity, me who am familiar with flutist james galway) . an idea behind this question, When was the moment of discovery? and what follows in that first stanza is something i explore in a poem i posted recently, resonance. i find this stanza intriguing and fascinating Your lips never touch the flute itself: a column of tremulous breath crosses a tiny gap, enters the flute, and is transformed into the music you love. The music is thus composed of you. Who can measure the abundance of truth and beauty that comes forth as sounds and colors? it's the idea of the breath not actually touching, the breath that means so much. one of the things that comes to mind is the transference across synapses, followed by the idea that all that appears solid is mostly space. i expect this idea will resonate in me. nice ending- the image of the music ascending into space. i enjoyed this poem. glen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 11:46:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Your lips never touch the flute itself: a column of tremulous breath crosses a tiny gap, enters the flute, and is transformed into the music you love. The music is thus composed of you. Who can measure the abundance of truth and beauty that comes forth as sounds and colors? - - - - - - - - - Like Glen Kappy said in his comment, I too have no knowledge about Kathinka.But I can relate to 'flute' the musical instrument which is associated with Hindu God Lord Krishna., Music inside the flutist comes through his breath to the small hole of the flute and vibrate the world outside.Such a beautiful poem about 'music of flute', thanks for sharing.