The space between and through the notes allows them to dance – the co-creative unfolding
The quietness between soundings; the preparation for what is to come from what has already been; the out-breath dies into still, receptive presence before the energetic in-breath impregnates.
The word poetry derives from the ancient Greek word ‘poiesis’ which means an unfurling, creative revealing, bringing forth or presencing of reality.
‘All poetry is a matter of giving sensory form to ideas and finding the images that take us unhindered into the heart of things.’ Roger Scruton
‘The great works of art have about them the quality of a reminder. They fix that which is fugitive: the cooling shadow of an oak on a windless, hot summer afternoon; the golden-brown tint of leaves in the early days of autumn; the stoical sadness of a bare tree glimpsed from a train, outlined against a heavy grey sky. At the same time, it is forgotten aspects of our own psyches to which paintings can seem mysteriously conjoined. It can be our unspoken longings that surprise us in the trees, and our adolescent selves that we recognise in the hazy tint of a summer day.’ Alain De Botton
‘There are two aspects of things – the outward and the inward…. The outward has no meaning except in so far as it helps the inward. All true Art is thus an expression of the soul. The outward forms have value only in so far as they are the expression of the inner spirit of man…To a true artist only that face is beautiful which, quite apart from its exterior, shines with the truth within the soul. There is no beauty apart from Truth… Truly beautiful creations come when right perception is at work.’ Ghandi
True poems I call fingerprints
That show upon their grain of skin
Those delicate labyrinths within
Which are the essential her or him.
Yet poems are like footprints too,
Precise across a field of dew
To lead us on some echoing trail
To where that hidden trove, the secret source
Of resonance, can be hailed:
A frozen gleam, a buried seal of gold,
This unseen watermark upon the page.
(ref: Jack Herbert, extract from ‘A Scroll of Fern’)
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
William Blake – Auguries of Innocence
‘Silence is an ocean. Speech is a river.’ Rumi
“The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere