resonance

Resonances

Wandering around school as usual, reading the notices and popping my head into the classrooms. I have some homework to do but I can't remember what it is - something about an essay. Is it in Irish or French or English? I know exactly what I will write about but not in what language or for what class. There are instructions on the blackboards of various classrooms but nothing seems quite right. All of the pupils are wandering around like me; there don't seem to be any teachers.

I got a letter from an old friend telling me about how he has felt about me over the years. He is talking from a perspective that looks back over our whole time together and says that he has always only wanted to maintain a connection between us, and that twice now I have broken it and hurt both of us. It seems like he is talking in a way that someone far wiser than me would, but I don't know if I should take it that way or only as an expression of his perspective. I think I try to explain myself; I can't remember. I only remember stumbling up in the darkness of a bedroom of a strange house and making my way to the bathroom without turning the lights on. While I piss I see the dim reflection of my head in the mirror; it looks like my head is shaved.

I am explaining to someone about how to design a structure like the Eiffel Tower so that it doesn't get destroyed by the wind. Wind of the right frequency can induce a resonance in a structure like that which can tear it apart if it goes on long enough; you have to add extra strength or weight at certain points in the structure to destroy the harmonics.

Resonance

once I thought we were born here with no clues
no path, no means, no scent of home
like a cellist without a bow,
grappling with an arcane instrument
before a vast audience of laughter

like they knew better than me -
"Tabula rasa", as if babies come into being
with no brain or heart, no feeling,
nothing that might have been carried
from a lighter, timeless world

look at her fingers tremble on the strings -
she's not afraid of the sound
but of the audience, what they'll do
when the sound wakes their hearts -
one single note, to kiss, to destroy -

something to rise out of the brain
into the early evening skyline
they know the trees are shaking in the wind
they saw the constellations appearing
like diamonds sifted out of the sandy clouds

take care - they never asked to be reminded -
"I'll know when I fall in love" - how are you so sure -
except that you are a singing wineglass,
a bell that hums when a voice speaks underneath,
that knows the truth because you feel it making you true -

your mother will lead the tiger out of the house
by its teeth, she'll put you to shame -
while you wander through glaciers, mazes
like endless Inca cities, stepped and geometric,
unable to escape the memory of death

except that you hear the violinist -
she doesn't know what she does, but the sound
is not bound by her knowledge - if you cry
when the crescendo takes hold of her hands,
what is it in you that moves, that resonates,

what did you recognise, that you feel so ruined,
devastated by happiness, reduced to nothing by love,
like an empty evening sky for seeing comets,
like wind for laughing, roads for the feeling of distance -
an empty peace in your clearlight bedroom