Mud Flat at Low Tide
Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 4:10 am
Mud Flat at Low Tide
The chords swell like a wave far out at sea:
gulls ride the air above it. Then, the chorus
comes in at last. It talks of tide and fish,
but we expect the worst. And Peter Grimes
does not do well in company. The tide
will turn, the chorus sings, and that is so.
Orders and plans shape arias, while wind
and rain pull the libretto. Discords lash
like rain across the chorus. Peter Grimes
swims up before us, then fragments. A clear
sense of the man eludes us; words do not
much alter what the music has to say.
A good two hours, to learn that point. Defense
and prosecution speak. There’s no escaping
in this world from our actions, they define us –
this, Peter Grimes forgets. But it is right
to struggle, to contend with Fate – outside us
or inside if the difference matters here.
And what of beauty? Beauty of a sort
spells out this art, like brine, or seaweed, or
a mud flat at low tide. It is not earthly,
it drifts and jars. Here, everybody talks
across each other. Music fissures speech
like driftwood, or a rotting hull. And peace
of mind comes in when words fail. They do that
more than once. Then, wind and tide erase
all manner of sin. Not that of Peter Grimes.
Peter Grimes:
The chords swell like a wave far out at sea:
gulls ride the air above it. Then, the chorus
comes in at last. It talks of tide and fish,
but we expect the worst. And Peter Grimes
does not do well in company. The tide
will turn, the chorus sings, and that is so.
Orders and plans shape arias, while wind
and rain pull the libretto. Discords lash
like rain across the chorus. Peter Grimes
swims up before us, then fragments. A clear
sense of the man eludes us; words do not
much alter what the music has to say.
A good two hours, to learn that point. Defense
and prosecution speak. There’s no escaping
in this world from our actions, they define us –
this, Peter Grimes forgets. But it is right
to struggle, to contend with Fate – outside us
or inside if the difference matters here.
And what of beauty? Beauty of a sort
spells out this art, like brine, or seaweed, or
a mud flat at low tide. It is not earthly,
it drifts and jars. Here, everybody talks
across each other. Music fissures speech
like driftwood, or a rotting hull. And peace
of mind comes in when words fail. They do that
more than once. Then, wind and tide erase
all manner of sin. Not that of Peter Grimes.
Peter Grimes: