by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
Today's poetry selection is "To a Singer" by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Yesterday would have been the immortal poet's 227th birthday. I came across this poem, as well as the birthday information on Shelley, in yesterday's edition of "The Writer's Almanac," an on-line newsletter compiled by Garrison Keillor.
"To a Singer," at least on its surface, talks about the soothing and moving qualities of music. As I was reading the piece for the first time, music by Roseanne Cash was playing in the background. The connection between her soft and soulful voice and Shelley's imaginary float trip through idyllic sounds and visions was immediate and intense. The voice of the singer clarified the intent of the poet.
The voices of Roseanne Cash, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and even Linda Ronstadt calm my anguished soul and and take my little drifting boat to those same Elysian garden islets that once welcomed Shelley. Good music - and good poetry - can be as powerful and the fiercest political speech - and much more calming.
To a Singer
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Poetry Appreciator
Today's poetry selection is "To a Singer" by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Yesterday would have been the immortal poet's 227th birthday. I came across this poem, as well as the birthday information on Shelley, in yesterday's edition of "The Writer's Almanac," an on-line newsletter compiled by Garrison Keillor.
"To a Singer," at least on its surface, talks about the soothing and moving qualities of music. As I was reading the piece for the first time, music by Roseanne Cash was playing in the background. The connection between her soft and soulful voice and Shelley's imaginary float trip through idyllic sounds and visions was immediate and intense. The voice of the singer clarified the intent of the poet.
The voices of Roseanne Cash, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and even Linda Ronstadt calm my anguished soul and and take my little drifting boat to those same Elysian garden islets that once welcomed Shelley. Good music - and good poetry - can be as powerful and the fiercest political speech - and much more calming.
To a Singer
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
My soul is an enchanted boat,
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it,
Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
It seems to float ever, forever,
Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses!
Till, like one in slumber bound,
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound.
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it,
Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
It seems to float ever, forever,
Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses!
Till, like one in slumber bound,
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound.
Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions
In music's most serene dominions;
Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.
And we sail on, away, afar,
Without a course, without a star,
But by the instinct of sweet music driven;
Till through Elysian garden islets
By thee, most beautiful of pilots,
Where never mortal pinnace glided,
The boat of my desire is guided;
Realms where the air we breathe is love,
Which in the winds on the waves doth move,
Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above.
In music's most serene dominions;
Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.
And we sail on, away, afar,
Without a course, without a star,
But by the instinct of sweet music driven;
Till through Elysian garden islets
By thee, most beautiful of pilots,
Where never mortal pinnace glided,
The boat of my desire is guided;
Realms where the air we breathe is love,
Which in the winds on the waves doth move,
Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above.
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