In Memory of Tommy

On the one year anniversary of his death, this poem:

An Fear Draíochta

For Tommy Peoples, Donegal-born Irish fiddler (1948-2018)

  

He tucks his fiddle under his chin,

then brings the bow.

From the first notes

there’s a shock of naked sound,

music released from blood

and breath – silver flash of a

trout wrenched from a lake,

streaming bright water.

Tommy’s fixed gaze rests on

the fiddle’s neck while his

fingers press and release. He

sits very still, the wildness

in him moving only the bow.

Weeping, cajoling, a bird flutters

from branch to branch, trilling from

a tree’s highest limbs. Pause, then

a refrain erupts from deep in 

recesses of blossom and leaf.

At dusk, from shadowed hedges

drifts a last homing chant.

Where are you?

Where are you?

            Enchantment tiptoes among us

            as we listen, as morning fog

            creeps inland from the sea

            to cross stone and grass.

            Salt-laden, story-laden, it

            joins the grazing cattle, mingles

            with the steam of their hides.

           

Portrait of Tommy by Martin Fox of Asheville, NC

Cliffs of Moher Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash

Poem copyright Cathy Larson Sky  (August 4, 2019)

My Fiddle, My Friend, My Voice

Thoughts are bulging out of my head and they seem to be emerging in essay form. So: Caveat: only for those with a long attention span.

Part I Initiation and Immersion

What is fiddling? People say he or she is “just fiddling around,” meaning that someone is wasting time doing inconsequential stuff. Not busy at serious, goal-oriented pastimes. In this season of falling leaves, of trees standing naked, I feel close to the wood of my fiddle. Its grain is a kind of hieroglyph of wind and water; its glow the memory of sunshine pouring down through openings in the forest roof. I know that the work I have done in learning tradition fiddling is the result of following a strong spiritual urge to find a source. For a long time I thought that source was outside of me, but now I see it is also within me. It is a force that motivates others possessed of the similar madness.

Fiddling and traditional music in general comprise an invisible world that can only be known by devotion and perpetual practice. It is not like playing from written music, with its succinct instructions, nor is it much like performing in the symphony, led by a conductor who interprets the musical piece. In an orchestral setting, the musician is a worker under the instruction of different bosses. Ironically, this is the kind of musician most widely regarded as productive and exemplary. Many of them cannot learn strictly by ear, as traditional musicians do. Their music does not become completely internalized and must be summoned by external prompts. Not all, but many classically trained musicians rely on written music. How then, does the process of learning traditional music, of fiddling begin?

You go through a gate. As far as Irish traditional music, if you are not born in Ireland, or in an Irish community in America, where you may have been born into a family already steeped in music, the process begins randomly. It may be a traditional concert down by a lake, or a recording you hear at a party that rocks your world. For me, it was an LP played for me when I was deep in grief. The music – it was the Chieftains -- soaked into the broken place inside me, telling me that it knew me. It seemed to be speaking about what I was feeling. How did it do this? Irish traditional music is for me, and always will be, a language of the deeper life of the soul, spirit, heart: whatever words you want to use to name the currents that run through us all. There is a kind of instant attunement, not unlike falling in love.

After you enter through the gate, that initiation, there follows a long period of listening and learning. As well as yearning. Nothing will satisfy that longing except being where the music is played. Hopefully, you are able to find traditional music communities or individuals who have a repertory of tunes. It only takes two to transmit and receive the music. This period may last for decades, or a lifetime, as it has been with me. To be open, to listen, and learn – these are traits which bind us to the world in a thoughtful way in general, not just in music. During the immersion period, waves of sound wash over the consciousness, each wave focusing, illuminating, until finally a clearer picture of the tune forms and curves begins to emerge. There is something pure about this period, as one listens holistically, allowing the colors and feelings of the tunes to come in, without judging or parsing out according to one’s acquired likes and dislikes. This sensory data will continue to cling to the tunes, including time, place, people, odors, emotions, in the same process that Proust’s madeleines sent him time-tripping, and indeed to question the nature of time itself. In time, the tunes provide an inner landscape rich in imagery: a kind of bank, or inner wealth of tunes that will demand to be played.

OUR CD BABY

It's the equivalent of the New Year's cherub, clad in diaper, banner, and top hat. Patrick, my piper husband, and I, have produced a little electronic offspring. Traditional Irish music, played in the old style, as we learned from older generation musicians in Ireland and here in the US-Irish community. Here are some reasons it is unique:

Though there were pithy nouns and bold verbal commands exchanged between husband and wife during recording, the recording discussions were mediated by the purring, owl-eyed presence of Wanda, the long haired black cat, a pet of Too Tall Tom and Suzi Dimock of Thunderstorm Hollows studio. Peace was restored.

It was fueled by excellent and affordable ($3.59) chicken salad sandwiches at Creekside Restaurant in Bakersville, NC. Plus a few sides of Curly Fries.

It comes straight from our hearts.

It can be purchased at Ossian, USA (see the sidebar) or from us (info at www. patricksky.com)

Happy New Year to all of us in the creative arts, including day dreaming.