‘Ground of Poetry’ is a poem inspired by the bagpipe playing of a Scottish friend, Colin, during a recent gathering in memory of another friend, Aranth. See an earlier post on ‘receiving.’ The sound of the bagpipe opened the sky and vast landscapes, across which the drone carried the glories tunes into a kind of homecoming. The drone of a musical instrument, I thought, is like the backdrop sound of the universe into which every manifestation dissolves, and from which every manifestation returns.
… in the beginning was the word … the leaves in my garden reminded me of words.
thousand-and-one words fall to the ground
jewelling the story of seasons’ rounds
they’ll twirl anew to the drone
of each new sound arising
from beyond the ever-
open silence
open silence
from beyond the ever
of each new sound arising
they’ll twirl anew to the drone
jewelling the story of seasons’ rounds
thousand-and-one words swell from the ground
For anyone not that familiar with bagpipes, here are a few words and tunes:
http://www.educationscotland.gov.uk/scotlandssongs/about/instruments/bagpipes/index.asp
Course of Mirrors 
What a beautiful post. Gorgeous words, enchanting images and the swell and skirl of the pipes in my mind – Superb – thank you.
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Thanks Diane. I like the sound of ‘skirl,’ a new word for me. Is it Scottish?
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This brought to mind my beloved brother, who learned to play the bagpipes when he was a boy. As a young man he played them and I was transported to the hills and shores of our childhood. Nowadays it is a beckoning sound I hear in that yearning drone, to a place and people that will always feel like home.
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I wonder if this sense of being beckoned home by the yearning sound of a drone is universal. Home in the sense of being welcome, hugged, nourished, restored and encouraged to dream anew of far horizons. I’m used to the drone of the handheld harmonium. The bagpipe drone seems to come from its own planet. To my knowledge, I have no roots in Scotland, but some of my best friends do.
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The poetry is beautiful and the pics are breathtaking. is this your own garden?
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Thanks, Great to meet you. I visited your blog, love your humour, and your drawings. Will visit more and check out your children books.
The garden, yes, my own, it’s now receded into the night, but will appear again tomorrow morning. The stone sculptures live in a place nearby. They spoke to me of autumn.
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Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ Λόγος, καὶ ὁ Λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν Θεόν, καὶ Θεός ἦν ὁ Λόγος.
Where ‘Lógos’ is actually more like ‘idea’ or ‘concept’ rather than ‘word’ (domain of human surface mind :o).
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Hi Marek 🙂 http://www.dailyom.com/library/000/000/000000578.html
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Lovely! I do so love your poetry, Ashen. Sparse in words, deep in emotion…perfection!
Oh, btw, I’ve nominated you for the One Lovely Blog Award, I know you’re not really into these things, but I’d love to bring as many visitors as possible to your wonderful blog! 😀 xx
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Thanks. You’re kind. Midnight, Sophie. Will look at stuff tomorrow.
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Night night sweetie. 🙂
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My cousin belongs to a troupe of pipers and he often plays at family funerals. The sound is like a captured swarm of bees and it displaces thought, even at a distance, forcing one to experience the moment. A harp, a guitar, a piano, even drums can recede to the background but not bagpipes.
Lovely poem, Ashen, and lovely pictures, too.
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Such wonderful words and images, sent forth and reflected back. Oh, I love this style of poetry. Love and light, Deborah.
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Thank you, Deborah ☼
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Thanks, J.F. You provide a wonderful description, and you’re right … the sound forces one to experience the moment.
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The sound of bagpipes never fails to bring tears to my eyes. My Grandmother was Scottish and every year on her birthday, we used to ask a cottage neighbour to play the pipes for her. Now, whenever I hear them, I think of her and how much miss her.
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Just thought about the first time I ever heard bagpipes 1977 Wings – ‘Mull of Kintyre’! 😀
STILL my favourite song! 😛
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Here a bit of sweet nostalgia, the tune with words. Love the guys on the beach swinging their batons. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5626WzsfMw
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Ahhhh…sweet sweet memories. Thank you, Ashen! 🙂 xx
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What a magical birthday present. And it kept your grandmother alive in your memory. What do we know? In another dimension time does not exist in the way we measure it …
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How beautiful your mirror poem is, delicate, yet resonant.
And what a fabulous experience this must have been.
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