Arrested by Art: Gjertrud Schnackenberg's St. Matthew Passion
Gjertrud Schnackenberg has been a good friend of Concrete & River over the years, so it seems fitting to wrap things up with some passages from her compelling new collection, St. Matthew Passion.
This book was my constant companion as I travelled back and forth from country to city every week this fall for work.
In eight that poems that move through the story developed in Bach's great oratorio, Schnackenberg embodies -- in luminous, musical language -- the experience of being arrested by art and ultimately expanded by it.
Here are some of the passages that keep singing to me. I hope they inspire you to go get this treasure of a book.
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from A Rising Minor Sixth
Put out my eyes, and I can see you still
--Rilke
I try to pull away, but can't,
My coat drawn halfway on
And hanging crosswise in the back,
The empty sleeve fallen aslant,
Brushing the floor--I have to leave,
It's time, I've set
The afternoon aside for "taking care
Of things"--my scribbled lists
Of valueless, inconsequential errands,
Rounds of chores, and unavailing tasks
I can't put off, all things forgotten
Instantly as soon as taken care of.
But haunting me if left undone.
I have to leave. But when I try
To make my hand reach for the door,
It doesn't move. As if it isn't able to.
As if I had forgotten you, Jerusalem.
As if I could. Instead I stand
Arrested at the door, held in abeyance
By the music I left on.
Erbarme dich.
A rising minor sixth unseals the sound.
The violin, engulfed
By what has happened, brings the room
Into another state of being. A seventh sense.
Its aria, self-crucifying, brief,
Is trying to extend
A wordless vocal line
As if the violin caught sight
Of bonfire-lit Jerusalem
...
Aus Liebe
Each of us must bear our part
-- Chris Zimmerman, The Bruderhof
I need a heart of bronze for hearing this,
And not the lost wax melting off
Beneath a molten pour of sound
When, out of love,
A solo flute appears--
Appears, whether or not I've grown
Sick of the world, sick of the things
That people do, sick of the ache, and in the end
What difference does it make
That He has cast out every sickness,
Given what has happened.
Given this--
Why summon from the air the oxygen
That's needed for a last
Outflowing breath
Above a slowing pulse? And what
Can flutes accomplish? What do
Flutes have the ability to do?
Why draw a breath
Not even deep enough
For blowing out a candle flame
That cleaves aus liebe
To the wick it carbonizes
As it writhes, why take
Repeated shallow sips of oxygen,
And why array
The fragile respirations of a flute's
Expiring appoggiatura sighs
Against the site of massive violence
And abandonment at Golgotha,
And why apply circular breathing
To a frail lament that seems
To breathe itself into existence
For my joy and pleasure,
While Thou must suffer--
Though it's true
That, lifted to the lips, Bach's flutes pursue
The anguish to its source,
With tongue-assisted embouchure,
The way a tongue will touch,
Draw back,
Then touch again
A welling gap of sudden blood
No gauze can stanch
After an aching truth
Is torn out by the roots--
I take a breath, and move
To turn the music off, but stop myself,
Relenting, giving up
Because it's clear it doesn't matter
Whether I concede
The miracle that flutes,
For all their frailty,
Can overflow with truth
When human beings are themselves
Incapable of saying it--
The truth that each of us,
However frail, must bear our part--
The truth that he has held
The lead weight of your heart,
And weightless notes are capable
Of weighing it
Before they vanish off
To go wherever music goes
When nobody
On earth is playing it.
...
from Cataract Surgery, 1750
An oboe, nameless, bodiless, and footless,
Blind, alone,
Disworlds itself, intent
On moving past the end, intent
On following footfalls
Of steps another takes for us.
Nearly unheard. I have to leave--
But having overheard a fragile oboe
Drawing near its purpose--
A spirit passing through a wall, unhurt--
And without any feet can go to you--
My footstep stalls, midair, unable to.
...
Heartfelt thanks to all who have enjoyed, shared, and responded to Concrete & River over the years. I'm grateful for the community.
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Find Gjertrud Schnackenberg's St. Matthew Passion at Arrowsmith Press or your favourite independent bookstore.
Posted by kind permission of the author