This Little Light; or, A Wish for the New Year

On the figurative eve of this new year I had two dazzling experiences of listening. One took place in my town’s venerable coffeehouse: a concert by Amy Helm, who sings with a body full of rhythm and heart and shining eyes like some kind of earth-bound angel. Her father too, Levon Helm, shone this way. And the second was the Netflix film of Bruce Springsteen’s Broadway show. It was all I could do not to get up from my chair in order to fall to my knees.

I felt as if some central core had been split open and the inner flame of humanity was revealed, and I needed to respond with my body, needed to prostrate myself to this fire. You know the old Jewish myth that the deity dropped vessels of light and we humans are its shards. I saw in these performances the great glitter of us, what is the best of us, we members of this odd and difficult species, broken and sparkling.

Yuval Noah Hariri defines intelligence as the ability to solve problems and consciousness as the ability to feel. These artists seem to wring out of themselves and into their work the essence of consciousness. They seem to be fearless in showing the edges and facets of themselves through their work. This is inspiring — remembering that inspire is an in-breath, a re-oxygenating of the cells of the body, an awakening.

I love words, poetry, but it’s music that wrenches me most deeply, often vocal music, often that magic of tune and word and beat that creates a live thing that enters me, skin and bone, gut and vein. Many things move me, but only music guts me. Well, with an exception: Hearing Ilya Kaminsky orate “Do not go gentle.” That was transformational.

I dabble in music but am no musician. Still I can hope and strive to create in my own written work this kind of reaching and opening, this level of capturing light. If I could write a poem that could even slightly glitter like those performances, I will have done what I set out on this path to do.

So for this new year, I wish for all of us that we find some light to let loose from our jagged edges, that we find our shine.

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6 thoughts on “This Little Light; or, A Wish for the New Year

  1. Pingback: Poetry Blog Digest 2019: Week 2 – Via Negativa

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