P. Ferguson image, November 2008.
The Violin as Mentor
For those who strive to find words from the pen or keystroke…they will understand…not all words are forthcoming. Some days words sit on the edge, and though I have written before of word loss I love these days when words fall from the fingers to the page. It can be this simple.
Some long while ago I endeavored to write poetry…whatever came to my thoughts and written as the words gathered themselves into phrases. The joy was not perfection, it was not in any form of editing…the joy was the raw feelings in the moment.
P. Ferguson image, October 2009.
So today I find myself working on the Somme for a presentation, occasionally coming to terms with memory…what can I possibly retain? Then I let go…what will be will be…like the unfinished violin that finds its notes for the Battle of the Somme. And the words have come – from its play across the strings as the bow laces the tune together. And in the playing we have these words for the page. Home…so many memories.
The Battle of the Somme, The Unfinished Violin, Sam Sweeney, 2018.
…and this is not the first time I have thought of home with the violin as mentor. So too those days on a ridge with The Warriors Lament of Sierra Noble 9 April 2007.