Upon hearing Mendelssohn’s Elijah, Op. 70
O thou, who makes thine angels spirits
performed by the Duluth Superior Symphony Orchestra
This November evening
with sky purple starless
and dark yet a month away
from the longest of this year
anticipated holiness of music
lights the spirits of some
whose souls warmer than the sidewalk
melt ice crystals to footprints,
wet tracks on concrete;
the rest, pilgrims hurry inside
round-shouldered against the chill,
unwrapped cough drops in pockets
against folded bills for wine and a tip
at intermission.
Seated musicians in black wonder
what angels might bring Elijah tonight
to lovers of music, light, warmth,
Jehovah, intermission wine
served in stemless plastic
or all of these?
The conductor bows, turns
to face chorus and orchestra
the stiffness of his straight back
flexing to an arabesque,
his wingspan of raised arms;
with the swell of the oratorio,
the expectant the hopeful
the jaded the surprised
are tethered, the source
of the Aylmeri jess
invisible and tangible as
with an intake of breath
of breath, all
singers musicians
expectant hopeful jaded
transform with the opus
returning briefly to what we once were
and will be again,
anjeniwag, angels,
spirits in soul and form.
This is human-produced sound, tangible
touch of bow to string, of mouth to reed
or nickel mouthpiece, of breath to vocal chord
that calls forth Elijah;
our quickened souls
that make the music, conduct, and hear,
fly as angels over the sound
fly as anjeniwag above the sound.