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 | |  | | Sonatina
by Johnmichael Simon
In Sonatina, masterful Israeli poet, Johnmichael Simon explores the relationship between high art and the natural world. Music in all its forms is adeptly employed as a metaphor for considering what it means to be human.
In one poem the poet yearns for that which is "linked, interweaving and perfect." In another, he longs to capture "the life of the rose/the memory of apples". One is reminded here of the poet's aspiration to enter the inner world of external things. Ever aware of the inherent limitations of artistic achievement and the irony of the creator's predicament, this poet comes as close as coming close allows. The world we hold is all we have, and so we might become enlightened by a simple song, a single voice, a pen to tell us humble human truths.
John B. Lee Poet Lauraete of Brantford
This collection of poetry is presented so intriguingly, with the beauty of a found folio, the themes and the delicate drawings by Helen Bar-Lev, all accenting the score of life. An acceptance of reality is softened by a love for the human symphony, a shiverous tide of truth in gripping poetry that washes over the reader, from the ant to the rose, to the blazing skies, we stretch with Johnmichael in song beats, hearts at times hurt but drawn to connections.
What this book accomplishes for us is the vision of all events meshing in the music of life, the bizarre just another octave, the sweet and miraculous : "the clouds and God are all that exist and the music, the music."
Katherine L. Gordon, author, editor, publisher, literary critic, resident columnist for Ancient Heart Magazine
Price $18 includes shipping
Go to the Payments page to purchase this book | |  | |  | |
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Excerpts from this book:
Oboe d’Amore
There’s a melody plaintive and true
an oboe air that winds
between the young woman and Cimarosa
now that she is undressed and alone
Touch me! it cries and I stretch out
but she is not there and I touch another
standing at the window looking out
as she hears the melody played on
the wings of a blackbird
pecking at a plum
The plum falls to the ground
the melody flows into the earth
touches the thoughts of a young man
boarding a train and she,
standing on the platform,
tiptoes to his lips waving goodbye
as he sees a boy on a piano stool
holding a ball
gazing into nowhere
Once again the old photograph of the boy
trembles in its leather case
hears the melody
fingers the piano keys
as they remember a young girl
boarding a train on tiptoe
her dress stretching upwards
to her thighs
No, says the melody
I am an oboe, touch me!
hold me firmly, gently
press here, and here,
feel how the melody wanders out
touch me, touch me
And she stretches upwards
standing at the window
looking out as the platform drifts away
the brown case closes,
folding the twin reeds of the oboe
back into maroon baroque velvet
until all that remains
is a blackbird
picking at a plum
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The Streets Of Time
Last night you came to me Johann Sebastian
this is not the first time I have dreamed of you is it?
Do they remember me a little you whispered
just a little your eyes beseeched
Oh Johann my dear come to the window
look out on these towers their spires piercing the clouds
the transports flitting like fireflies between them
See this wall of buttons press this one
and again and this one and this
ah yes that’s right now
How could I describe how you lit up
like a laser torch glowing pulsing listening
your feet beginning to tap in wonder of
alien voices and instruments beating out strangely
familiar notes and rhythms and then your eyes glistening
with first recognition you dared to mouth the question
What is that?
Press this button Johann
that is jazz, that is rock, that is improvisation
funk heavy metal trance different dances
Swingle’s there too sweet and true
dream, fusion, integrative blue complexity
do you hear emotions, romatic intrusions?
words woven in between the notes to and fro
the tapestry of modern music
can you hear them Johann, I see you do
begin to understand they are all you
Press here and here
colorful long tailed birds tadpoles pitcher bearers
climbing busily then tumbling
helter skelter through nimble snakes and ladders
up and down the rungs of Sol and Fa rhythms notes
counterpoint all coming clear now yes they are your children
and there you are striding head and shoulders
above them all down the streets of time
open the window Johann and float
out to meet them in the scents of the night
you and they and their children and
great grandchildren will be back
I know it eternally |
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