I asked them in the shiny classroom with the Creed and the Sutra to take the world, cut it into two parts, and reduce each to one word; and as bright as they were they reported: The two words are Substance and Emptiness; which, when I told this to the philosopher, he said, They might as well have said, Materialism and Mysticism; and that would tear it for the whole thing. That same week died a beautiful princess, a saintly nun, and a musician. As I am fond of trinities, this pleased me. That was a wonderful week to die. Beneath every ballad is a bass line singing a song sometimes counter to, or supplementary of, or even quarreling with its melody. Sometimes it bursts forth, a sprinter out of the blocks, or, as the heartbreak cello in Anitra's dance, into a melody of its own. Either way, an underground breath and heartbeat resonates to deeper music behind the chaos of falling leaves, the random whirling of galaxy stars--patterns without which all songs are wan and thin. So if a world can be rendered to rapture and science, matter and faith, then what is matter? We are told it is not matter at all-- it is light! It is planet-possibles whipping around supposed suns so fast, so hot, sense can't see them. It is an orchestra of energies playing ballads beyond the ear, the delight of skin and hips just out of touch. Our East and West requires a third term, as does microscope and chalice. If one is disposed to love leaves so green and skies so blue--to romance a princess, venerate the saint, to repair in our hidden hearts the great bass chords and lines that are the world's true furniture: Substance, emptiness, and art; princess, nun, and music maker create the trinities needed; and that beneath the requirement to die, under apparent confusion of leaves the breakforth of bass notes of a melody sings, sounding its most distant and deepest strings. |
Steven Fortney
Back to SF Poetry Page
Back to SF Home Page
Page updated by TiPi, 10/27/2000