1. |
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Yesterday a tiny crocus
popped its lilac and yellow head out
from under its winter
burial cloth of chestnut brown,
decaying mulched leaves
and damp springtime dirt.
It stopped me.
Asked me to notice
and delight,
tend to the new
beginning,
even when it
appears so far away.
It seems to call
“come out!
today is a
new day.”
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2. |
My Time Underwater
06:06
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Stood out at the edge of different bodies of water the past few nights
The Saugatuck River, Pinewood Lake, the reservoir at Devil’s Den
I stood out in the summer evening needing to visit a time when
I spent more time dreaming, less time practicing breathing
For the inevitable descent
Tossing tree branches into the water and wading up to my knees
Bubbling with unease, recalling the other times I’ve been
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3. |
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4. |
when god lets my body be
04:35
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[note: this is the original poem by E.E. Cummings. Lines within brackets are not sung as lyrics but are included here to respect the poem's original form.]
when god lets my body be
From each brave eye shall sprout a tree
fruit that dangles therefrom
the purpled world will dance upon
Between my lips which did sing
a rose shall beget the spring
[that maidens whom passion wastes
will lay between their little breasts]
My strong fingers beneath the snow
Into strenuous birds shall go
my love walking in the grass
their wings will touch with her face
and all the while shall my heart be
With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea
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5. |
The Pool
06:18
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Can you
Can you tell me why
I need to know
Where I
Fell into the pool
Would you teach me how to swim?
I don’t want to drown again
It feels like I’m always gasping for air
My dreams
My dreams are vignettes
Of when I
Of when I fell into the pool
Black and white polaroids
They seem to be moving
Pictures in motion
Outside myself looking over here
Can you?
Can you tell me why?
I need to know
Exactly when I
Sank to the bottom of the pool
The weight of the water crushing me
The wades in the water useless to me
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6. |
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7. |
Sequestered
06:36
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8. |
Innisfree
03:42
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I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
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9. |
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I feel it, but I don’t pay attention. I’m wiping my face but still taste the salt.
These places I visit myself are edges of bodies of fresh water.
Maybe they remind me of the things that I ruined, the things that are my fault.
These things I’m no longer doing, but lack forgiveness I’m still pursuing.
Long Island Sound is an estuary though, sometimes I can hear it on burned CD’s
That people made for me that I can really only listen to in the car.
They wash over me now. I hear them, but I don’t pay attention.
Too busy skipping stones - I still get can’t throw them very far.
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10. |
Offerings
08:34
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When will I return to myself
open the door again and offer
the affection that is always waiting
just beyond my willingness to reach
move further from this here and now
see the road that leads back
to the places of true kindness
children know the way
opening themselves to what is always new
I cling to the old, the familiar
the “I don’t think this works anymore
but it is mine”
In my dreams the sandbar of my childhood
is exposed
I squeeze my toes together in the wet sand
I collect sand dollars and shells
little mermaid purses
offering themselves to me
I feel the sun’s warmth on my bare back
I look back to see my mother watching from the beach
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
in the cooler at her side
My dream nearly comes to an end
I almost wake and move on to what the body knows
but then I see that all of this beauty,
sandbar stretching for what seems to be an eternity
indulgent ocean is offered to me
So I look back again at my mother
she smiles offering it all
and I run and dive into the shallow tide
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11. |
Lady of the Island
04:54
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Holding you close, undisturbed before a fire
The pressure in my chest when you breathe in my ear
We both knew this would happen when you first appeared
My Lady of the Island
The brownness of your body in the fire glow
Except the places where the sun refused to go
Our bodies were a perfect fit
In afterglow we lay
My Lady of the Island
Letting myself wander through the world inside your eyes
You know I'd like to stay here until every tear runs dry
My Lady of the Island
Wrapped around each other in the peeping sun
Beams of sunshine light the stage, the red light's on
I never want to finish what I've just begun with you
My Lady of the Island
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12. |
for Charlotte
07:01
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13. |
Nonspecific Sadness
06:23
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It's like sitting in a cloud
And the fog is so loud
That you can't see the way down
The lake is almost invisible
Still the water's filling your lungs
As you drown you remember
That it's only a loud cloud
Swallowing your body up to your neck
From the edge you waded deep in the lake
You can't see the way down to the ground
Still the water's filling your lungs
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14. |
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Do you remember what I was saying to you?
Out on the veranda back when it was warm
Between sips of black coffee I said who
I was convinced I am going to be
Do you remember? I know it’s becoming
A blur. I was hanging on the banister
Between your brown eyes and mine
I see the places we intertwine
I guess you were right not to let me
Get caught up in what I already knew
We spoke more on the subway platform
I still remember what I was saying to you
Wipe your tears
You’re crying often now
I watch you trying to soften how the air hangs
In the perpetual summer air
Between contrasting brown irises
Between identical brown irises
I lied it’s easier than telling
The truth why and where you are
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15. |
gently toss
04:08
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Where Ships of Purple—gently toss --
On Seas of Daffodil—
Fantastic Sailors—mingle—
And then—the Wharf is still!
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16. |
for Ahmed (Finale)
06:41
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Yesterday a tiny crocus
popped its lilac and yellow head out
from under its winter
burial cloth of chestnut brown,
decaying mulched leaves
and damp springtime dirt.
It stopped me.
Asked me to notice
and delight,
tend to the new
beginning,
even when it
appears so far away.
It seems to call
“come out!
today is a
new day.”
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17. |
Postlude
05:09
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Michael Denis Ó Callaghan Brooklyn, New York
Michael Denis Ó Callaghan is a composer, trumpeter, vocalist, lyricist, and educator with a knack for subverting
expectation. Blurring the boundaries between composition and improvisation, his music explores the space between eclectic artistic influences-simultaneously paying homage to musical traditions and moving towards a unique, authentic sound of his own.
michaeldenisocallaghan.com
... more
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