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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460886" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Apollo Is Alive and Well and Living in Suburbia...</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Last night, a great lute-player <br>as full of enthusiasm for the power of music<br>and its history of the human heart<br>as far as history recedes, as I remember him<br>forty years ago before his fame had spread, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">handed his lute around the dinner-table<br>as if we were at some christening party<br>for the eternal birth of eternal music<br>in the eternal present moment…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the lute shining like a promise<br>of things greater and unknown..<br>yet… not unknown to the eager heart...<br>made of several woods, matured</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for around eight years; like pearwood, <br>the driest wood known; all nature<br>had conspired (as poets put it) , <br>the trees had conferred together</div><div style="margin:10px 0">in praise of the music which they hear<br>hints of through their winter branches, <br>in their rustling young spring leaves, <br>in the wind’s dry whisper in red and brown late curling leaves…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and a man had put all this together<br>with its invisible fierce tensions held<br>by cunning of design, to permit<br>the gentlest sounds of laughter, tears…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a man who after years of skill<br>built into priceless treasures such as this<br>now works in La Jolla as a restorer<br>of heritage houses from the nineteen-hundreds…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and the lute itself! when holding it, it seemed<br>to have a ‘negative weight’ – as if<br>its very balance, laws of immaterial sound<br>made material in our human world</div><div style="margin:10px 0">had made a thing of spirit, which begged<br>return to its very elements of ether, <br>sound, air, touch, and music’s fire, <br>the flow of love in laughter and in tears, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">so that I swear, it had no weight<br>but rather, was its opposite…<br>he played an ancient song<br>composed before songs were written down, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">recorded for us – its sole record, this –<br>by the first inventor, from the Italian courts, <br>of moveable musical type; a song<br>which transcended its Christian story</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of sin and sorrow and repenting grief; <br>its music, roaming in its memory, <br>over Africa, Asia, all the length<br>and breadth of the human heart</div><div style="margin:10px 0">recorded in the sound of music…<br>this the magic that rose in the air<br>around a dinner-table in a suburban house<br>touched by a boundless, weightless eternity of grace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460886" data-title="Apollo Is Alive and Well and Living in Suburbia... de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Last night, a great lute-player 
as full of enthusiasm for the power of music
and its history of the human heart
as far as history recedes, as I remember him
forty years ago before his fame had spread, 

handed his lute around the dinner-table
as ..."></div>
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