Orpheus In The Daylight Poem by Daniel Brick

(A Friend's Remembrance)

After his wife's death Orpheus spoke
little. He still sang his songs,
and those of us who loved him,
both his friends and fellow artists,
both the relatives and servants
who lived on his estate, all of us
were daily regaled with the double
beauty of his art and his presence.
The gap between writing and composing
and then performing had narrowed
dramatically. He wrote words on paper
in the silence of early morning, and
we kept our distance, pursued our own arts
or household duties, until he stirred,
left behind the solitude of poetry, and
joined the rest of us. He was very sociable,
talked impartially about serious or trivial
topics, even teased the servants out of
their labor and pulled them into frivolity.
What this generosity of spirit cost him
was rarely evident, but at times we could
see waves of grief surface and darken his
features. Then he withdrew into Eurydice's
garden, with only his dearest companions,
among whom I was blessed. There, leaning
against a cypress sapling, rested his lyre.
And for hours he played just the absolute music
of strings, sometimes so softly we had to squeeze
our hearing for the sounds to enter our rapt souls.

Fragrances of dozens of flowers that Eurydice
had planted and nurtured rose into the afternoon
heat and mingled with the mellow lyre sound, and
aromas and tones became one sensation. And the sun,
in its apogee of glory, sent shafts of hard light
over us. Orpheus led us in prayer to Helios Sun-God,
but within our hearts worship unfolded for the primal god
of Light, shining Apollo, the Master Singer, the Father of Orpheus.