|Gawaine C. R.||
Hymn to Pan
Gawaine Caldwater Ross
Before Morocco was Roman, you see,
the music of Pan was African jazz.
At the Wednesday night prayer meeting
the percussion discussion of Mingus goes on,
getting' all jumpy and sweaty inside.
This is the time of the passionate stranger,
of bullfights and trumpets, of magic and lust.
You should see that goat high steppin'
playin' his pipes for centaurs and satyrs
while rivers of wine and buckets of beer
splash the maenads snaking with joy.
Seven black dancers leap on a cliff,
five different rhythms make them alive:
It's music that spears them, one at a time!
One says “It's crazy,” one says “It's love,”
three new rhythms awaken the dead!
Fertility spirits moan and shout
as flutes and oboes evoke ancestors.
A soprano echoes a baritone's wail.
The sky man wears a cloak of feathers,
the earth woman wears a skirt of grass.
A neighboring tribe joins the fray
entering caves with torches aloft,
wearing masks of stallions and mares.
The god who grants all desires arrives
riding a winged golden lion
as twenty eight drummers climax at once.
I can believe that joy is infectious,
I can believe that music is Life.
I'm going to jump and roar my approval
she's going to ride a broad chested centaur
the people will tussle a long hungry python
when Pan calls us in the middle of the night.
|A former member||
Most excellent, most superb! I like. So much so, I'm printing it out momentarily.
Reminds me (in all the best ways) of Beat poetry: the immediacy, the rapture, the "crazy" and the "love."
Bonus points for capitalizing "Life" toward the end. If any word ought to be capitalized, especially in an age where "God" and "Life" are becming more synonymous, even thanks to science...
Bravo. Got any more to share? Looking forward to seeing you at an upcoming meeting (not sure which ones I'll make it to yet.)