How is it possible to be drenched in bliss
while drowning in grief?
How is it possible that a symphony
emerging from a silver noise-box
could move into one’s body
picking up the cells as though
they were instruments waiting idly in the wings
and move the music through them –
make the music with them –
so that they and the music were
one thing in glorious exaltation?
How is it possible that this exaltation
could contain every note of human
suffering as well as its delight?
On listening, this summer’s morning, to Mahler: Fourth movement, Adagietto, from Symphony No 5 in C# minor – New York Phil/Zubin Mehta