Through chorus, we express the universe:
as the single voice of a crowded thought;
as spontaneous chant without rehearse;
as the wisdom of mobs and witty retort.
Through chorus, our communal silk is spun:
as tapestries sewn of collective thread;
as blankets of comfort layered as one;
as patches of cloth on a quilted bed.
Through chorus, we conduct a life-long beat:
as rhythmic stimulants that resonate;
as echoes bouncing through dancing feet;
as musical moments that modulate.
. The frequency of life is harmonic
. Through chorus, we tune-in to its tonic.

© Tim Grace, 20 May 2012

To the reader: As a young child, of the 1960s, I grew up amidst a communal chorus; love was the word. Crammed into every three minute pop-song was a catchy refrain; a repeatable, memorable melody that bounced either side of a metrical verse. In that distant world the chorus was an invitation; a come together crescendo that united a generational voice. In full, the memory of a song fades; what’s left is the chorus.

To the poet: The fourteen lines of a sonnet easily convert into the simple pop-song formula of three verses (quatrains) and a repeatable chorus (from the final couplet). This sonnet tinkers with that relationship. Upon reflection, the result shows the difference between poetry and song-writing. A lyric needs room to lilt and requires very little internal strength. With too much internal strength melody struggles to sing.


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