Elizabeth Bewick
Remembered Music
Janet, have I brought rectitude to life
or made a mockery of memory,
a workshop exercise instead of truth?
Frustrated that you cannot criticise,
assess my words or interject your own,
I kick at the passivity of death.
A shared enthusiasm lit our days
illuminating all we thought and felt
until art seemed a twinning of delight,
but now I search for harmony alone
without the stimulus of counterpoint
or skill to play new melodies at sight.
I know your spirit lives and nurtures mine
but knowledge is cold comfort in the dark
and faith leaks from the corners of my mind.
I miss the warmth of your companionship,
I need you here, the strength of your support,
but death has made you seem to be unkind.
I want to write your epitaph in gold
but there's no need for any words of mine,
you left an epitaph for us to find:
your artist's eye assessed the world you knew
sifting the gold from dross, the truth from sham
to paint the living landscape of your mind.
or made a mockery of memory,
a workshop exercise instead of truth?
Frustrated that you cannot criticise,
assess my words or interject your own,
I kick at the passivity of death.
A shared enthusiasm lit our days
illuminating all we thought and felt
until art seemed a twinning of delight,
but now I search for harmony alone
without the stimulus of counterpoint
or skill to play new melodies at sight.
I know your spirit lives and nurtures mine
but knowledge is cold comfort in the dark
and faith leaks from the corners of my mind.
I miss the warmth of your companionship,
I need you here, the strength of your support,
but death has made you seem to be unkind.
I want to write your epitaph in gold
but there's no need for any words of mine,
you left an epitaph for us to find:
your artist's eye assessed the world you knew
sifting the gold from dross, the truth from sham
to paint the living landscape of your mind.
Page(s) 15
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