Five Essays
By Drew Gardner
1
Letting the groove be what it is. Letting the sounds go where they need to go. Committing to repetition, committing to texture. Following mind and ear rather than form. Trusting self-oscillation. Letting mind manifest itself. Beautiful and filthy, from attenuated to expansive. Letting the drone open the feeling. Panning slowly over the landscape. Trusting honesty. Moving toward feeling.
2
The lyre is very old. From a time, too long ago to remember, when things were all one thing. The lyre and the voice doubling. The cycles repeating, breathing. But not tiring. The buzzy, rich sound. The wisdom of plant life emerging from the universe and meeting, eventually, a strange thought of kindness. A calm, weird peace in your heart whispering something to you that you had forgotten.
3
A kind of ensemble felicity following solidarity. Fuzz squishes the multiple concepts to a scale where they can interact differently. They recombine into a possible larger good hard to guess at. Rather than compete the usual way. You don’t let the fear direct you, but you’re not unkind to it. The helpful flute riff. The blurry moments. The gigantism of open-mindedness. Feeling what kind of person you want to be, and letting that guide you. A kind of strength that comes from unfolding layers. Flammable things that never burn. You travel by staying in one place.
4
Horizons have their own thoughts. There is the patience of evolution, and there is the practice of waiting for someone you love to return. Suddenly the sounds around you are vivid and alive, and the subway escalator squeak relates an engrossing tale with a green subterranean light coming through the gaps.
5
There is a fire boiling the tea and there is a moment that will happen just this once. Then another line of sight. There is a mountain that slows down motion by changing its perspective and a rain that disappears and returns. It is your doctor who has passed away and you become a peculiar kind of health. The beauty of not getting in others’ way repeating in cascades of novelty, so you don’t overstay your welcome. Move toward it and it expands, move away and it splashes humorously through the surface into the sunlight.
Letting the groove be what it is. Letting the sounds go where they need to go. Committing to repetition, committing to texture. Following mind and ear rather than form. Trusting self-oscillation. Letting mind manifest itself. Beautiful and filthy, from attenuated to expansive. Letting the drone open the feeling. Panning slowly over the landscape. Trusting honesty. Moving toward feeling.
2
The lyre is very old. From a time, too long ago to remember, when things were all one thing. The lyre and the voice doubling. The cycles repeating, breathing. But not tiring. The buzzy, rich sound. The wisdom of plant life emerging from the universe and meeting, eventually, a strange thought of kindness. A calm, weird peace in your heart whispering something to you that you had forgotten.
3
A kind of ensemble felicity following solidarity. Fuzz squishes the multiple concepts to a scale where they can interact differently. They recombine into a possible larger good hard to guess at. Rather than compete the usual way. You don’t let the fear direct you, but you’re not unkind to it. The helpful flute riff. The blurry moments. The gigantism of open-mindedness. Feeling what kind of person you want to be, and letting that guide you. A kind of strength that comes from unfolding layers. Flammable things that never burn. You travel by staying in one place.
4
Horizons have their own thoughts. There is the patience of evolution, and there is the practice of waiting for someone you love to return. Suddenly the sounds around you are vivid and alive, and the subway escalator squeak relates an engrossing tale with a green subterranean light coming through the gaps.
5
There is a fire boiling the tea and there is a moment that will happen just this once. Then another line of sight. There is a mountain that slows down motion by changing its perspective and a rain that disappears and returns. It is your doctor who has passed away and you become a peculiar kind of health. The beauty of not getting in others’ way repeating in cascades of novelty, so you don’t overstay your welcome. Move toward it and it expands, move away and it splashes humorously through the surface into the sunlight.
Source: Poetry (January 2020)