inside the music

The part I sing in our quartet
hovers above or below the melody;
often it sounds like the French horn.
The Lead’s note sounds familiar;
the Bass is the solid foundation;
the Tenor lilts above all, thrillingly;
my part, the Bari, fills it all in.

I make it work, and doing that,
I hear the games the arranger plays,
as no one else can: resonating in me
is the edge of the music, the place
it is most sweet and sour, most
ripe and raw. The music is a house
with furnace roaring in the basement,
twittering birds nesting in the attic,
good cooking in the kitchen, and a ghost
nudging everyone along the spine.

If you doubt that I am a ghost,
listen to the Bari part by itself
if you dare, alone by a window
as darkness surrounds the house;
and you realize how alone you are,
and how necessary that tingle
is, when you wonder if you are alive.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to inside the music

  1. John Hamilton says:

    I guess what you are saying is the the bari is the spirit of the ensemble.

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