Bach, Swallows, and the Moon
A poem about seasons turning
No voiceover for the poem today, because Substack’s audio functions are in a mood. Not to worry, though, I found you a ‘way better soundtrack.
BACH, SWALLOWS, AND THE MOON 2025
I listen to a Brandenburg concerto, the fourth one,
and as the flute lines dip and rise I think of swallows
and of those wise men, natural philosophers
from centuries ago, convinced that swallows, every winter
when they so strangely disappeared, flew to the moon.
I wonder: did they posit lunar trees in silver leaf
beside the lunar seas and rivers which astronomers
had mapped so clearly? Did they believe
the swallows made that long flight singing,
their shrill notes echoed by the starbound dark?
And as the strings swoop in to rise and dip among the flutes,
I wonder: those wise men, those natural philosophers
from centuries ago, did they spend still nights late in winter
waking, listening, waiting for the first far-distant trills
to wing toward them through slow-warming moonlight?
What, swallows don't live in trees with silver leaves on the moon. in the winter? :-) There's a bit of Douglas Adam's 'A Salmon of Doubt' hanging in that pretty line of yours!
On a side note, I wonder what that Brandenburg concerto would sound like without that heavy tempo being marched through it? For me it is like watching lighthearted swallows with storm troopers passing below. Still, I can hear your inspiration in it, and do enjoy your poem.
Bach, swallows, and moonlight—nothing could be more lovely