New year. New approach. And snow geese.

Beethoven is eternal. Poetry is eternal.

I’m working on a new poetry book collection, which has me going back through my own writing collection, and also look at what’s inspiring me now. When I started this endeavor, my partnership with Beethoven, the world was deep in pandemic. Now it seems, the world is facing new fears, and I need a new approach; away of finding peace on the inside, when there is such chaos surrounding us all. Now I’d like to explore other transcendent synergies.

Let’s start simply. What is special, universal in this world? In other words, where does one find transcendence? Let’s build from there.

Transcendence is not easily defined, but I will start with what sparks that in my life, interactions with nature. I’ll describe that experience after visiting the winter feeding ground here in New Mexico. Snow geese are solid snowy white with black tips, similar to swans. (Photos and more information here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_goose ) This is my photo at the beginning of this post, of the huge flock of snow geese coming in for their watery landing.

From the arctic circle they fly thousands of miles south to winter in New Mexico. They eat, put on weight they fly back north to nest with their lifetime partner at the place where they were born. I get that, sort of like how I go back and forth to my house in Italy, then come back to New Mexico. Having two homes is a wonderful option in my life, and that of a snow goose. Watching them come in to land on an icy cold pond, swirling in mass circles, then splashing quietly (squalshing should be a word) onto the surface, thousands of time over in the grey pink dawn is an experience not to be missed. They are sharing space with the cranes, who are also quite masterful fliers and beautiful in their flocks of thousands.

The next week, after visiting the geese and cranes, I was driving around town with the radio on, when music came on. It was so striking, tears started running down my face. I had to pull the car over. What was happening? Then while I’m listening and closing my eyes, I saw the flocks of geese in my mind’s eye, circling overhead, then gliding into the water in an orchestrated unknown symphony. After the music ended, the announcer came on and said that the piece was named “Schwanengesang,” by Franz Schubert. That was it, the music of the water birds. Of course I had to write a poem as soon as I got home.

Schubert and I, We had a Moment

Beautiful music on the radio

made me stop,

searching for a memory

of cold tears,

and then it came to me

They were linked pearls

on blue velvet sky

The snow geese

searched for home

then brought their angled courses

down to the cold water,

Splashless swans on crushed ice

Schubert must have seen them too,

his notes skating,

rising, then settling to match

their agile quick air turns

like the virtuoso’s bow

skipping cross the strings

When I heard the title of the music,

there was no surprise

“Schwanengesang Seranade” which means

Swan Singing

If the snow geese could sing

this was their song

I knew it was their song

before I knew the name of the music

Schubert reached up through years

and miles and oceans and continents

He found me

Talked to me

Sang to me

We shared a breathless moment

with beautiful white birds

as if we’d stood on the shore together

He gave himself eternal life

through art

I look to him

and long to do the same

Here is a beautiful performance of this same music.

Schubert lived to be 31 years old. All my children are older than that. He was a contemporary of Mozart and Beethoven, without a huge amount of success in his lifetime. Yet through his music, he lives and speaks and gives us beauty and a little hope. Schubert demonstrates what art can do in times like these. What poetry can do in times like these.

What we all need now.