Music Heard with You

Roaming around bookstores and staring at delectable books always gives me a temporary recess from taking life seriously. And during the time when I was so depressed over the ordeal of my father, I tread the nearest bookstore and prowled for books that would suffice my longing for delightful pieces. It was just timely that I stumbled upon the Adam Zagajewski’s “Without End,” a compilation of his popular poems that earned him numerous literary awards.  I skimmed the pages, ran through it, read several poems and providentially landed on the page where a poem so sweet awakened my slumbering heart. The title of the poem was “Music Heard with You.”  It was a simple poem, borne out of nostalgia (perhaps) or longing to ignite the same feeling all over again, or making the moment of listening to the music as essential part of fostering his love for his lover. Ah, I used to dislike poems but at that very moment, I felt drawn to it, absorbed in its simplicity and vividness that I wanted it etched in my mind like a mantra. That impulse urged me to take out a paper and pen from my bag and started copying every line.

 

But when I was about to finish scribbling the poem, the sales lady suddenly popped out from a corner like a genie and said, “Sir it is illegal to copy texts from our display.”  I obeyed like a good citizen and approached the lady.

 

“Maam,” I said politely, “would you care if I were to pay for the page I have copied? It’s so beautiful that I want to share it with my friend.  Just divide the total price by the number of pages and I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry, I wont tear any page from this book. You can keep it still, untarnished. And you can sell the book just to anyone with the same price.”

 

I knew I offered a good bargain, but because there were may people inside the bookstore who eavesdropped, I knew she would turn down my offer and let me do my forgery.“Oh no sir, replied the sales lady, “just go on. I’m sorry.” 

 

Then off to my crime, scribbling hastily the last few lines which made a lot of impact to me like a music lulled by Juliet to singe the heart of Romeo upon losing his breath. It took my breath away too, in the sense that I want to remember it inasmuch as I want to forget it -- like pain and happiness in contrast. For I know, music heard with her will never grow with us ever again. And it saddened me more, really.

 

Oh well, that’s too personal. Don’t mind about my sentiments. Anyway, the poem ought to be read in a light and bubbly mood. hehe. So here’s the poem folks:

 

 

Music Heard with You

By Adam Zagajewski

 

Music I heard with you was more than music.- Conrad Aiken 

 

Music heard with you

will stay forever with us.

 

Grave Brahms and elegaic Schubert,
a few songs, Chopin's third sonata,

a couple of quartets with heart -
breaking chords (Beethoven, adagia),

the sadness of Shostakovich that
didn't want to die.

The great choruses of Bach's Passions,
as if someone had summoned us,

demanding joy,
pure and disinterested,

joy in which faith
is self-evident.

 

Some scraps of Lutoslawski
as fugitive as our thoughts.

A black woman singing blues
ran through us like shining steel,

even though it reached us on the street
of an ugly, dirty town.

Mahler's endless marches,
the trumpet's voice opening Symphony no. 5

and the first part of the Ninth
(you sometimes call him "malheur!")

Mozart's despair in the Requiem
his buoyant piano concertos -

you hummed them better than I did,
but we both know that.

Music heard with you
will grow still with us.