Melodic Stories
Stories alone cry for attention,
to bring in someone from out in the cold,
to soften his anxiety and warm his heart,
to fill him up with joy,
wonderment, and knowledge,
to put him in the story as if he
were interacting with the characters
and feeling what they feel.
But words alone depend upon his mental
curiosity to bring him in
but not his automatic response.
Music has its melodic arms to pull him in
and put him in the story,
to feel its moods and transpirations,
to feel it beating in his heart,
to enliven his spirit that comes alive
at the sound of music,
that magic wand that brings the story to him
and places it in his intellect and spirit,
opening the door to his comprehension.
Oh, the power of music,
the velvet arms that bring the story to him,
that forces its way into his callous heart,
that makes him think like the story does,
that makes him feel its many moods,
that takes him to the same places,
over the rough terrain, the stormy seas,
the azure skies, the fruited plains,
breath-taking sunrises and sunsets
that boatswains and helmsmen see every day,
or into the arms of a beautiful woman,
or into the mind of a poet, a musician,
a sage, a priest, a holy man,
or a madman, a thief, or a killer
and their temperaments and desires
that only words alone can’t describe
but portrayed by the sound of music
that brings him into the story.
Oh, sweet music and thy power of persuasion.
I wrote this after I heard the music of Sweeny Todd by Steven Sondheim for the millionth time.
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