Margaret Alice

Rookie - 3 Points (The Crystal Age / Pretoria - South Africa)

Music: Beethoven's Seventh, Changed By Song - Poem by Margaret Alice


Beethoven's Seventh and Moonlight
Just listened to Beethoven’s Seventh - how
did they know to assign it as study material
when I was doing matric? How did they decide
on that piece of music that ripped my heart
strings to pieces? I cried on hearing those
repetitions - insistent - of sad-sounding notes
and nostalgic chords; I never managed to follow
the score when it was played in class; keeping
track of even notes and regular rhythms while
my heart was burning inside; I did not believe
in true happiness - people felt numb or sad;
that was my theory – true joy never was –
when I listen to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata;
I see a person distraught, crying until a crisis
of feeling is reached in an ascending flow
of minor notes; then the emotion ebbs; the
person crying is calmed in his sadness…

Wrong Changed By Song

Started this day all wrong
caught in a morning long
day-dream – lay in the
sun to absorb life-giving
rays, that always calms
the Nile-Crocodile;

looked through magazines
for strangers' faces to use in
my collage, unexpectedly
another personality took
over my mind, happily
singing a song –

for the two weeks past
there had been no song
in my voice, I could only
focus on books, if I tried
to sing my voice seemed
wrong, the sound did not

stay in my ears – today
my mind changed gear
allowing a different, musical
me vocal chords; it is a joy
to Elizabeth Serenade
and Phantom, every note

rings out sweet and clear; I
enjoy cleaning the kitchen to
the tune on my lips, I hope
this phase will endure;
it is great to feel
like a songbird again!

Is it because I found meaning
in words that threatened?
The miracle is all I know;
I sing while ostensibly
cleaning, mimicking work,
an excuse to sing along!

Comments about Music: Beethoven's Seventh, Changed By Song by Margaret Alice

  • (7/22/2007 6:01:00 AM)

    Happy melodies are never as unbearably perfect as the heart-rending ones. I also used to think that a true artist is hypersensitive to grief and misery and even his happy moments are coloured with bitterness. A great write. Julia (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, July 22, 2007

Poem Edited: Tuesday, March 22, 2011

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