poem on sound of music evelyn glennie
Answers
Answer:
Explanation:
Drums mark the rhythm
of the melting icicle and the dripping tap,
the interval between the beats decreasing with precision
as the tempo rises.
Music lives in the silent lines
raked into the gravel of the samurai garden,
echoes in the surge of shingle on the highland shore,
lingers in the attenuated note
of the distant sunlit horizon.
The percussionist plays the rusty xylophone
of farmyard scrap, the breeze ripples the puddled reflections
of the cowshed wall, shimmers the corrugations,
provides the visual score.
Smashed glass in the derelict warehouse
paints a crescendo of recent events, a static explosion,
the pigeon’s cooing in contrapuntal harmony
resounds from staircase and rafter,
the distant descant of metal sheets waving loosely
in the urban wind.
Mirrored glass distorts the urban architecture
into a cadenza of modernity,
chanting the times to unhearing ears,
to unseeing eyes.
The roots of rhythm are all about us,
music is within us,
in our blood,
in the fugue of our heart,
in our breathing,
our inspiration.
We are the sound.
Answer:
It was the rhythm, the vibrations and so much more
I couldn't hear but I had the power to feel
My potential was something about which I wasn't sure
For me the sweet tempo and beats were the things that would appeal
I was shunned by many who didn't believe in me
Mistreated, misguided, I was stranded
Then came a person, who saw the light in me
Guided me to a point that I lost all traits of being languid
He was my teacher, my mentor, my idol, and everything
He was my philosopher and my guide
Despite my disability; the potential in me is what he was finding
He didn't care much for the rules and he didn't abide
His help led me to soar high
My successes were limited to just the sky
I could sense the rhythm in my body
I could feel the vibrations on my skin
With joy I cried, almost lost at brim
Now I live the life of a successful percussionist, but don't forget I can't hear
Listen up! It's not a disability,
I have a different ability
It is the sound of music for which I am here.