Music, Song and Poetry

Sometimes in these early morning hours my inner spirit hears music and sings:  “The hills are alive with the sound of music…” or “When morning gilds the skies, my heart awakening cries (sings).”  I have little musical talent.  Years ago, in elementary school, I played the drum in the “Drum and Bugle Corps.” In third grade, along with others, I tried to play the Flutophone, without great success, but I can still play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” which is why I ended up playing the drum.  I tried the bugle, but didn’t make it.  When I was eleven or twelve I tried playing the guitar, but didn’t get very far.  Later, I tried the harmonica, but only got as far as “Silent Night” and “Way Down Upon the Swanee River.”  I even took piano lessons for a semester in college (primarily for a credit or two) but only for that one semester, but I can still play (one-handed) “Auld Lang Syne.”  I’m not sure I can sing (some who have heard me sing say I can—and some say I can’t)—which is why I do most of my singing when driving alone in the car.  But music and song, along with poetry, has always nurtured my soul.  

Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, according to her family, made her dramatic recovery after being shot in the head, through music therapy.  Apparently there are regions of the brain that are activated by listening to music, sometimes by creating new pathways around damaged areas.  In her book The Power of Music, Elena Mannes tells the story of a stroke patient, who having lost the ability to speak, made a breakthrough by singing her words rather than saying them (melodic intonation therapy).

Music and song, like poetry, speak to something deep within us all.  It connects us with our deeper and oft-times secret chambers, even creating new pathways in our feelings and thoughts.  I grew up and have lived all my life within the church, so much of the music that comes to mind in these early hours are hymns.  But secular music and song are also part of my morning repertoire.

“Guide me, O thou great Jehovah, pilgrim through this barren land, I am weak, but thou art mighty; hold me with thy powerful hand…”. “Abide with me; fast falls the even-tide; the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide.  When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.”  (“Me” is prominent in these particular hymns, but often I’ll add someone else’s name—and thus the music, the song, becomes a prayer.

On the secular side, Enya’s “Pilgrim” often comes to mind:  “Each heart is a pilgrim/Each one wants to know/The reason why the winds die/And where the stories go.  Pilgrim, in your journey/You may travel far/For pilgrim it’s a long way/To find out who you are.”

Music, song and poetry nourish the soul and create new pathways for it to live and grow.