Madrigal

MADRIGAL / Peter Cooley It is always the same poem. It should begin Oh hear me Lord O and then music could dispense with all the words and the euphony of speechlessness would praise for me. But in practice that cannot come to pass. There must be some theme like a catalpa tree this evening lowering, adagio, the wind among its limbs and through a kitchen window where the timpani of dinner plates resounds as set down by a tired woman. There must be her husband splashing wine into two glasses reflecting the oven's plucked brown wings where juices hum their promise of largesse. There must be words spoken by one or both which grate and clash before the chUdren who choose this moment to appear. (Let there be one boy, one girl; no, two girls to fill it out) And the children must be outfitted in varied rhythms swelling to crescendo as they enter to compare with tremulous songbirds high up on the tree; and the birds must be contrasted, gifted with proper names, branches to highUght and counterpoint their luscious tones. And then an image must be drawn out of the tree itself whUe I count on the wind to bring everything around, the night falling so a listener wUl know I made this up, and take not too lightly how it resolves, missing thereby, the still essential harmony and dissonance which was His answer when I began to speak. 254 · The Missouri Review ...