Birds Don't Know the Names of Notes
Have I heard you forever,
but never listened?
I remember your voice
from when I lived in Africa.
Little bluebird,
your tones fall around me,
it's the most complicated
melody I've ever heard.
In the West,
Pythagoras divided
the octave into intervals
to stave off chaos.
He defined fourths and fifths,
and invented the chords;
he did his work on
a string nailed to two boards.
You sing me anarchy,
I'm tempted to fall
into the dionysian:
nature's chordless swamp.
I've got a stone in my throat,
I play guitar on a sculpted tree;
if only I could sing the distance
between you and me.
I don't envy the
natural singer.
Birds don't know the names of notes.
Birds don't know the names of notes.
