Our Song

October 6, 2019

And you – you danced with another while our song was still playing.

All things are aggregations of atoms that dance & by their movement produce sound. When the rhythm of the dance changes, the sound it produces also changes… Each atom perpetually sings its song, and the sound at every moment creates dense subtle forms.

Alexandra David-Neel
Magic and Mystery in Tibet

Dancing to silence

July 12, 2019

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

Anon

  • Please note boys and girls, this quote is sourced to Friedrich Nietzsche all over the internet, but that is rubbish – poor old Nietzsche NEVER wrote or said this – nor anything like it! The TIMES newspaper in 1927 published this:

“They who dance are thought mad by those who hear not the music. The truth of the old proverb was never more surely borne out that it is just now.”

Dancing

February 14, 2019

It was my father taught my mother
how to dance.
I never knew that.
I thought it was the other way.
Ballroom was their style,
a graceful twirling,
curved arms and fancy footwork,
a green-eyed radio.

There is always more than you know.
There are always boxes
put away in the cellar,
worn shoes and cherished pictures,
notes you find later,
sheet music you can’t play.

A woman came on Wednesdays
with tapes of waltzes.
She tried to make him shuffle
around the floor with her.
She said it would be good for him.
He didn’t want to.

Margaret Atwood

Over Wine

January 13, 2019

He glanced, gave me extra charm
and I took it as my own.
Happily I gulped a star.

I let myself be invented,
modelled on my own reflection
in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance
in the stir of sudden wings.

The chair’s a chair, the wine is wine,
in a wineglass that’s the wineglass
standing there by standing there.
Only I’m imaginary,
make-believe beyond belief,
so fictitious that it hurts.

And I tell him tales about
ants that die of love beneath
a dandelion’s constellation.
I swear a white rose will sing
if you sprinkle it with wine.

I laugh and I tilt my head
cautiously, as if to check
whether the invention works.
I dance, dance inside my stunned
skin, in his arms that create me.

Eve from the rib, Venus from foam,
Minerva from Jupiter’s head –
all three were more real than me.

When he isn’t looking at me,
I try to catch my reflection
on the wall. And I see the nail
where a picture used to be.

Wisława Szymborska

Soul on fire

November 4, 2018

She danced naked beneath the moon
her body wild
and her soul on fire

Samhain Ritual

November 1, 2018

Last night out, naked to the cold mechanics of the stars. Flames from our bonfire licking the wide expanse of sky. The cold air indifferent to each of us. The moor empty, silent except for the whispered patterns of our words. Easy to believe the world has been abandoned –

Vespertine

September 29, 2018

Dear night: It was so warm
under you that I offered
but you refused
to endure. You won’t remember
me. (We danced. I was the one
in the dark. I was wearing
this face.) In daylight, I’m an acre of empty
desert, anyway. A spent white flower. A pale
honey scent wilted away.
And I’m having this dream:
I am mourned by millions.
I died young and I was so, so pretty.

Camille Rankine,

converse for ever

September 1, 2018

We might go to moonlight ruins, cafés, dances, plays: converse for ever; sleep only while the moon covers herself for an instant with a thin veil.

Virginia Woolf
Letter to Vita Sackville-West, September 1928

 

Blush me a humble hydrangea
shade of pink. Your lilypad heart
lapping. How the skirts of trust
rustle, edge my waist in hungry
red welts. What can we find
to sacrifice to the goddess who
severed her tongue so that humans
could harvest this art of dance,
even as it damages the high
marrow of their hip bones?
I want our bodies to be difficult
to explain: like the shape smoke
takes, its slow ghostly groping.
Or like a lapse of memory —
scent of eucalyptus after rain.

Emily Paige Wilson