The Most Beautiful Song

The Most Beautiful Song

A Poem by Marie Anzalone
"

my first attempt at stream of consciousness writing

"

The Most Beautiful Song
for Jeff, as promised, my first attempt at stream of consciousness. Thank you, my friend, for all of the inspiration you gave me, and more. I will miss your warmth on site, terribly.

I’ve been informed my Quest is but Quixotic, tal vez chaotic, at best
and should be abandoned in favor of the ones better situated to
appreciate the grandeur of my challenge’s long-awaited prize.
For, I seek none other than to hear, and experience, and bask in-

the strains and chords and melodies of
The Most Beautiful Song that the World has ever heard-
the one that started playing out of the silence in the nanosecond that preceded
the Big Bang itself, and whose harmonies have become exquisitely complex through time
as Hydrogen gave way to Carbon to RNA to cortex to sentience, yet still underlaid
with repeated geometric cadences our ears are not tuned to discern
but which I am convinced our souls may feel.

Having been taught this elusive Music only graces those who achieve Perfection,
the climber inhaling the panoramic view from Everest on a clear day,
an Olympian excelling in his field, the leader whose words inspire riots and redemption
the writer who puts the human soul on paper, captured in a singularity of sheer brilliance-
Indeed, the walls of the symphony hall where the Music plays are constructed, I know,
of living visions of the world’s greatest masterpieces,
Van Gogh in the archway, Goya in tiles surrounding windows,
Degas in the alcove, in the colors and shapes and shadows as the Masters intended-
not the parody of vision all great Art becomes when transcribed for the mortal world.
I am not a Master, nor am I the saint, with devotion worthy of the Holy strains.

I am simply one woman, confused, my gender relegating me to remembrance only if issue born.
I am told, anyway. These attempts at greatness, to be part of something larger than I,
are childish dreams of a limited adult who should know better, for I have not the Beauty
that might the world take notice as I passed before it. Immortality not meant for me,
it seems, in any way- for as a Questioner of other people’s Truth I am heretic there, also.
Mere Mortals are not permitted the music, held close by secret societies who proclaim
that reciting the correct cetechism might enlighten me, if only the words themselves did not
ring so very hollow in my heart and ears.
So I bask naked on mountaintops and let the wind and sun caress barren breasts, listening
to the cries of red tailed hawks below me, and watching ravens barrel roll in the thermals
Perhaps saved upon my altar, but thinking I stand unheeded knocking at the door.

I cannot accept Others’ vision of God, I am condemned to merely find my own, and with it
my way out of ignorance and suffering, maybe. As blood flows down my thighs
heavier each month, I am reminded of the doctor’s words-
an operation to relieve the pain, you’ll never miss that part after it's gone,
I guess I’ll never resolve that question for myself after all. Do I seek the Music to fill the space?
Or is it simply to say there’s more than that, and I will prove it to you right now if only,
if only- I knew where to start. If only- an anchor really tied me to this world, so that
When I wander in another, I would know the way back home. But you know what that’s like,
my Friend, don’t you? Only I disagree, sometimes it’s not that the sky’s too bright, it’s that
rather the sky’s not nearly bright enough, as I wait for the blinding flash to flay
my flesh into particles of ash, snow white, redeemed, pure enough for a heart as golden
as the one maybe seeking now to know mine, reminding me of every damning mistake
I made getting to this point in the first place.

As I listen to learned men and women discuss their pieces of visions of Truth,
in medical discoveries, everyday miracles, though, a larger sense opens to me, maybe,
there is another way put of this darkness where wandering lost I encountered far more than
I set out to inquire at the beginning, asking the Creator for the courage
to walk the true path of a human being in search of Light. Provided the responsibility,
it would appear, yet never quite the authority my position would require.
Not of the correct background or the proper upbringing,
too wild at heart for the coffers of the cultured and the elite, who have framed snapshots of the  Music
and placed it upon the walls in their meticulously attenuated studies, a trophy
of which they will recite every penny that Trophy cost, if only so you know your place.
Likewise, too refined and restrained, too scholarly, it seems, for the ragged ones
the seekers of Life who know the music like their own skin, every night when
the needle hits the vein, and the rage of every wrong ever inflicted on them
rises bubbling to the surface, raw as broken glass, True as the poison distilled from
Satan’s own vineyard. For there is Truth in all is beautiful and good, and beauty
is oft times hard to discern when birthed of pain so exquisite that cannot be borne.

I have not the patience to devote my life to scripture, or minutiae; I have no children
nor placement to buy my way to salvation, nor the physique of a Goddess, nor
the courage to step inside a Van Goh painting, Joyce’s novels, and live
with hatred under my skin. Yet, still. in my audacity, I say, “I too would
seek to have the chords of the World’s Most Beautiful Song  resonate in my soul as
vibratory units of fire to dispel the visions witnessed when the night was long
and cold, and I remembered too well, too clearly, just why it was,
I learned in the first place to fear the dark, because after all, I am just one person,
and it is scary when the light of the world cannot penetrate the blackness inside.
When every time I reached out my hand for support it was slapped back in reproach, as
stumbling, I kept climbing a mountain path, incessantly, my strength faltering,
but tenacious enough to go on believing that my works, my projects, my little presence,
was truly deserved, and there was a destination waiting somewhere at the end after all"

For those who say the Music is not meant for the likes of me, I would ask, why then,
do I hear it every time now I seek to comprehend something my mind finds too exquisite for mere words?
The lacy wing of a blue damselfly, dew on spiderwebs, the feathers of a cardinal;
the laughter of a child who has just learned what he can do, the deathbed of a life well spent;
holding my friend and permitting his loss’ grief to be my own for a span of a night.

In the ecstatic throes of a perfect climax, devoted entirely to another's cherished embrace-
or the curve of a stunning woman, the angles of a beautiful man,

the way the keystone holds up the archway just so, like magic,

and the whispered promises to myself, late at night, next time,
I will do better, I will learn from all of this. I will Be what I am supposed to Be.
If the Music is not meant for me, then I ask what is happening here?

Has Heaven lowered its standards,

to permit mere mortals like myself to enter? or has my world ascended somehow?
or is the space thinning, just enough, and the end times really are near?

Or is it just possible that the heretics were right,

there is entrance for those who seek, and do it with intent to Love and be Loved?

For the very sweetest chords, the most true, I have yet heard, were those unspoken in promises
of a great Love for the world, and one of the Light,

and yet another one actually of this world, not the other,
as of yet unrequited, but pregnant- at last- with the promise of a time for peace.

For to hear the Most Beautiful Song one must, I think, be willing simply to become

a part of it, and let one's atoms verily explode into its inspiring, terrible, humbling

and yet -most tender-  strains.







 

© 2014 Marie Anzalone


Author's Note

Marie Anzalone
Inspired partly by watching the sun rise over the clouds on a recent plane ride, and also partly by a conversation with Cool Handless Luke regarding his masterpiece poem, "The Sky's Too Bright".

I appreciate all feedback, and if you liked this, you should also check out the piece that inspired it!

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Featured Review

I love it when I find a virgin piece like this as of yet to be reviewed so I can pop its metaphorical cherry and stretch out in my mind with the words lain before me I relive each verse as a moment to be savored. And you are sooooo right on the money with this. Especially the last verse:

for the sweetest chords, the most true, I have yet heard, were those unspoken in promises
of a great Love for the world, one of the light,
and one actually of this world, not the other,
as of yet unrequited, but pregnant- at last- with the promise of a time for peace.
For to hear the Most Beautiful Song one must, I think, be willing simply to become
a part of it, and let one's atoms verily explode into its inspiring, terrible, humbling
and yet -most tender- strains.

It makes me want to become a part that song and surrender myself to all those contradicting and yet complimentary emotions - to just be overwhelmed. It's a very liberating experience to just let go in your mind and let all this come out as it is meant along with portions of your own haunted and yet inspiring soul. I read this several times and it leaves me with the sense that while you are miles away, you are also right there and I can close my eyes and reach out and touch you.



Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

My friend. You inspired this write, and so much more. Because of your encouragement, I walked away f.. read more



Reviews

i, too, seek the strains, the swells, the notes of bliss

these are wonderful words to find on a day like today

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

Glad you enjoyed them, Emily. Some people inspire us to sink to their level, others to rise to the b.. read more
To submit oneself to the beating end of the stick over and over again can only build moral fiber they say, I don't think even after all the beatings I've received this past year that I would make one iota of a difference in someones digestive tract, I'm beginning to think I enjoy the abuse...figuratively.

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

the beatings are what give us the backbone we need to express truth. Everything else up until that p.. read more
Corset

7 Years Ago

all good points. :) ty
This is one of the most beautifully written poems I have come across on WC. Line after line was filled with so many wonderful images. Your stream of consciousness flowed perfectly. I am still in awe having read this 3 times now. Thank you for such a moving and stunning poem.

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Ravyne Hawke

7 Years Ago

Please do experiment often if this is the result we will get *smiles* you are most welcome for the r.. read more
Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

I do not often use the read request feautire, Lori, because of how much it been abused. But i will t.. read more
Ravyne Hawke

7 Years Ago

I haven't written anything experimental here at WC, except for my novel Fallen Darklings.. most of m.. read more
no metaphor I know of is capable of the description of the catharsys shared Here...
"For those who say the Music is not meant for the likes of me, I would ask, why then,
do I hear it every time now I seek to comprehend something my mind finds too exquisite for mere words?"....you Astound Me...so beautifully said in so many words...you just leave Me speechless...Laury


Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

oh, this is a wonderful piece...but, more wonderful still is the reaching soul singing this song...often, when I come and sit in the light of your heart, I am warmed and comforted, and I smile knowing, ah, my sister is here...

Posted 10 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Sounds of a woman who is confident and self assured... with strong convictions and yet open minded. You certainly expressed a lot of the depth of your character and in doing so show such great charisma.

Posted 10 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

The image that returned to my mind time after time while reading this was not of a musical score, but as the COVER of a musical score: made of a denser, darker material, wood behind, complex machination beneath, and sublime ethereal music in layer upon layer above me; yet even that not truly the music, but mere representations of the music, transcribed and later executed by an unseen force, who wants nothing less for me than to perceive the music in adequate degree to reach out for it.
Thank you for this troubling, consoling view into your life. The piece...AND the life...have blessed me!


Posted 10 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This reminds me of Sartre's Nausea, although after reading this I wasn't left with the same empty feeling that Nausea left me with! I'm stunned that this is you first attempt at writing a stream of conciousness, it reads very well and it isn't boring. Infact some of the imagery is at times startlingly good and suprisingly beautiful! This was a brilliant read and I'm glad that you entered it in, "Be Experimental!"

Thank you

AHouseOfChambers

Posted 10 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I am at a true loss for words. What can I possibly say to do honor to this magnificient piece. The language you use, the thought process (although you say it was notthought out) is truely beyond my comprehension. By that I mean, this is like a treasured visit inside your mind and you took us all on a magic carpet ride. This is just brilliant!!

Posted 10 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.


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Added on July 26, 2009
Last Updated on June 20, 2014

Author

Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala



About
Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start argume.. more..

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