Unsure of where to begin I curl you up to me,
window open
shadow of a bird fleeting over concrete,
the dogwood, considering.
/
Coiled close to the clavicle,
where you can tell me
anything almost what’s the difference
between listening and receiving.
/
I clear my mouth with water,
heavy bird
my body
which hid too long from the sun.
/
Lip, the room becomes
a heat wave
an orchard of pear
an orchard of plums.
/
And unsure yet still,
I turn to the river
turn my hand into a harbor
into the windy call of a gull heading out to sea.
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I will be back on the weekend with poems for the new moon in Taurus for you ~ but for now,
for now: may I introduce you to the most recent interviewee in my Rhythm / Devotion series?
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Imagine it is the end of October and you’re driving north on the highway. You’ve left Savannah, a little hungover, with your best friend and her dog and it was your birthday and all you wanted was cardamom.
Imagine you are driving northward towards the dark woods of North Carolina.
And next, imagine: you’ve gotten lost and have driven past mostly unremarkable things in the darkness—except there was the reservoir and the many pine trees and the windows open enough to breathe it in. You’ve gotten lost but somehow, you make the right turn onto Rosswood Road and then you’re there, you’ve arrived, at the second Cathedral.
Outside it is nothing but woods and no moon or was it full then? All I remember is that I missed seeing the stars—which were plenty there—and which, in Savannah, were kept hidden by the ceiling of Spanish moss.
Inside the Cathedral, it is full of fog. It is soft as moss and you succumb to it. Like a hypnosis.
Time rolls in the fog and in the music and at the end of the night, after everyone has gone home, and before you fall asleep, Glyn hands you something he says you might like.
A double cassette, “Spectral Cities” by Datahata.
This is exactly how it happened, more or less, (mostly less).
Everyone knows that the gift of a cassette tape between adult humans is the equivalent of a friendship bracelet exchanged between children.
And so, now you know how we met—Glyn and I. Glyn gentle as moss, Glyn glacial, Glyn giver of music.
It was through the fog, late October, the dark woods, the reservoir, because of music, in the southeast, in the Cathedral that smelled like moss then and smells like moss still.
And so, today, you get to meet him through his Rhythm/Devotion interview. Something I loved about his responses was the reminder to just go for a walk… so simple and yet.
Anyway, in honor of his reminders and his manner of musical composition, here is an arranged and reprocessed compilation of my favorite moments in his responses:
Morning walk. Mid-day walk. Evening walk. try to get a decent hike in. For sound: Go for a walk, listen for some time before coming back. Walking. walking for centering, grounding, and discovery. walking done thrice daily and at regular times. Definitely
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And so, I invite you to put on some Glyn Maier and let yourself get mossed out while you read his interview via this link or by clicking on the photo of him below:
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Okay, I will leave you here for now. I hope you’ve been getting plenty of time walking outside with all these unfurling blossoms. If not: go go!
Until next time ~
Devotedly so,
Chanelle
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