Three Silences Poem by Daniel Brick

In another moment
we will ascend
into heaven...
just another moment...
Ah, it never happens

as expected. Why
should it? My mind
which tosses up desires,
thoughts, fantasies,
fears, promises,

all impartially, all
spontaneously, is really
a vast empty space, not
even articulated as prairie,
ocean-floor, or outer space,

just emptiness, but
so vast it can pretend
to be the mind of a god.
It is a god's prerogative
to fully inhabit his spaces,

as if no boundaries
exist. Wherever
he sets his eyes,
boundaries stretch thin,
then vanish, that's

life in such heavenly
space we aspire to
reach in another
moment, in just another
moment, we will...

ascend... another...

***

For decades
your confidence
certain things have passed
is complete... You can't
even call them to mind.

You don't
believe me? Then try:
First clear a stage
in your mind, then
populate it with

a dozen or so of the hoi polloi -
they are your witnesses,
they're the essential context.
Now give the one in front
a shove. No, a bigger shove!

That's it! Now she starts
another moving,
then they start
more, soon it's a swirling motion.
An orbit forms, and circles until it falters

the way orbits
everywhere decay
and matter compressed
explodes, fragments
now released to wander...

And so your mind-dwellers,
your witnesses, your
hoi polloi scatter,
having lost their center
they flap awhile, fade, then vanish.

And you forget... forever.

*********

The composer steps tentatively
in front of the musicians
who will play his new string quartet.
There is a scattering of applause.
He bows, and then speaks:
'This piece is about Silence.'
He pauses, as if he wants people
to absorb his words prior to his music.
'Not literal Silence, ' he continues,
glancing down at his notes. 'Rather
I'm referring to that deliberate
absence at the center of
the musical experience which exists
in order that the listening self
may encounter itself there.'
He pauses for a moment, lowering
his notes as if new thoughts have
intruded on his carefully conceived
introduction. 'You must believe me
when I say, that center is an elusive
feature of the work in progress.
Sometimes it seems to vanish entirely,
only to reappear at the very end.
You see, we composers walk, tread
rather, a labyrinthine path,
searching for the coherence we can
just barely hear, but must somehow
grasp to complete the - the process,
well, it is a kind of journey,
and it is time for me to withdraw
so you can begin.' He makes a gesture
toward the first violinist, who
immediately raises his long bow.
Three more are poised, and suddenly
sound and silence begin their contention.