The Flutist Poem by Daniel Brick

The Flutist

Rating: 5.0


The long sorrow of the flute
stretched across the parched
ground of the caravan camp
into the hearing of travelers
in exhausted sleep. They were
from the high country and
the flute's song was no sorrow
to them. Instead they heard
the sound of rushing water
breaking up ice patches and
creating a channel for fresh
water to rush down mountainous
slopes to green valleys. They
awoke with flute sounds transformed
into restored energy. Their camels
were soon ready. But the solitary
player of the flute, tossing since
dawn in restless sleep, no dream
nestled in his mind, awoke to dust and
a confusion of movement. It was
a weary musician who arose, clutching
his flute and bag, and joined the last
component of the caravan, stragglers all,
wearily treading the silence of the parched ground.

Saturday, April 22, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: journey
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Rebecca Navarre 30 April 2017

Wow Again! ! ! ! ! An Amazing Incredible Journey With Such Strength And Detail Shown In This Inspirational Poem! ! ! ! ! Thank You So Much For Sharing This! ! ! ! ! Many 10S! ! ! ! ! +++++

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Daniel Brick 01 May 2017

I'm happy with this poem. I shared it with Kathinka Pasveer, a Dutch flutist, for whom Stockhausen wrote great flute works, including one called PARADISE. I'm very happy I inspired both you and Kathinka! ! !

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Laurie Van Der Hart 30 April 2017

I really enjoyed this poem that you made up while walking around a lake! It really is ver visual and if you listen carefully you can even hear the flute... The one freely watering others will himself also be freely watered.

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Daniel Brick 30 April 2017

Thanks Laurie for your very personal, empathetic comment. Your empathy is shown by your HEARING THE FLUTE. Your second sentence with the metaphor of

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Nosheen Irfan 24 April 2017

A wonderful write. The reader can hear the sound of the flute. And can visualize a desert where a caravan of wanderers is camped listening to the flute coming from the silence of the night. Flutist energizes the listeners with his melodious notes but he himself has little rest. A profound metaphoric write. In the journey of life, some of us are flutists n others are listeners. A huge 10.

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Daniel Brick 24 April 2017

Thanks much, Nosheen, for this thorough critique. I wrote this poem in my head as I walked around an urban lake near my apartment. I spilled on paper as soon as I got home. I feel closer to my characters, especially the flutist, after reading your luminous comment.

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