Saturday, 4 April 2015

The Busker OR Music, Spirit of Life


When people ask me what kind of music I like, I usually reply that if it is good of its kind, I will almost certainly enjoy it. Many people hate that answer, but it is true. Pop, Classical, Country and Western, Blues, Gospel, whatever...if it is good of its kind, it will have a quality able to reach and move the human heart if only the human heart will let it. In the natural world, the same can, of course, be said for birdsong, various animal sounds, wind in trees, waves lapping (or lashing) at a shoreline...

Now, I well recall an evening some years ago when I was on my way home after a particularly BAD day at work. The thought of returning to my lonely, empty flat was killing me. For no particular reason, I took a different route which meant taking in a subway where a busker was playing. I passed, paused, and stopped to listen to a lively mixture of jazz and other shades of popular music. It talked to me, the music. More than that, it told me a good few home truths like feeling sorry for myself would get me nowhere fast and being lonely was nobody’s fault but my own. I had to go to the world as it sure as hell wasn’t going to come to me.

The busker finished playing and I asked the name of the piece which turned out to be something he’d only recently composed himself, and called it ‘Hello, world, I’m Here, Where Are You?’  I gave him all the loose change I had and headed straight for my local pub where I had a meal, got chatting to people (some of whom would become good friends) and felt all the better for saying, yes, you’ve guessed…‘Hello, world, I’m here…’

What happened to the busker? I have no idea. Over the years, I’ve watched out for him on TV and listened out for that piece of music on the radio, but in vain.

Oh, but one way or another, the world, thank goodness, has always had and always will have...music.

THE BUSKER or MUSIC, SPIRIT of LIFE

Busker, making music,
all kinds of music;
without music, we might
as well be dead

Body rhythms, vibrations,
they all make music
even deaf people can hear
for everyone to share;
if a ‘sound’ means nothing
it has to mean something,
making mind, body and spirit
equal to the occasion
aware something’s out there
keeping us happy, sad,
fulfilled… as only music can

Busker, making music,
all kinds of music,
drowning out war cries,
making peace instead

It’s a happy heart that sings,
a heavy one that cries;
joy and tears are universal
to one and all;
where ‘song’ means nothing,
it has to mean something
making body, heart, and spirit
equal to the occasion
aware something’s out there
keeping us happy, sad,
fulfilled…as only music can

Busker, needing music
like we all need music,
all kinds of music turning
stress on its head


Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2015

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