The Composer

by Thomas Davis

An Italian, or Petrarchan, Sonnet

He searched a year to find the cedar tree,
Determined that heโ€™d find a lofty lord
That towered dark and gleaming like a sword
Thrust upward with a shaggy filigree
Of branches singing winds into a sea
Of sky where hawks and eagles soared
And wings stitched sky to land, a linking poured
Into the heartbeat of his fantasy.

He dreamed the tree into the song he sang,
Then fingered ancient rosewood cello strings
Into the filigree of cedar wind
That bowed as cries of distant eagles rang
Into the sky and wove tree, song, and wings
Into a music that will never end.


Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis

8 responses to “The Composer

  1. Ina

    I love the cadance in the poem ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. This is a beautiful sonnet; you are a master of this form Tom. I must attempt a Petrachan sonnet one day. ๐Ÿ˜Š

  3. I especially love the image of wings stitching sky to land. Beautiful poem, Thomas.

  4. As I rule I set your poems aside as I know I will receive both enjoyment and sustenance. I do the same thing with a meal; leaving the best bits to the end. The draw back here is that quite often there is so much else to be read or otherwise attended to that your poems don’t find their way through the clutter and requirements. But now I’ve had a rethink about the way I tackle things, which means I shall be at last be getting to and reading through those waiting Thomas Davis poems.

    As has already been commented on, this is a masterful piece. I too like the image that Betty singled out. I was struck by the unsuspected culmination, which lifts the whole thing to another realm.

    • You got me to look at this sonnet again, Ray. I had sort of decided it was a failure, but, if you like it, maybe it’s better than I thought.

      • Perhaps what you expect of yourself is unreasonable? Perhaps you would care to explain to Ben the way(s) in which you felt you fell short? That could come via e-mail of course if you prefer. ๐Ÿ™‚

      • I’m not sure why, after re-reading it, I had become convinced it was a failure. I like some of the language in it. I wrote it because of a major cellist who lives in Sturgeon Bay, Hans Christian. I wanted to relate his music to the mystery cored into the life of a large tree that knitted song, life, sky, and the earth together since I sense in his performances a power drawn from the intermingling of life even in the elements of life that most would consider unlife, soil, sky, etc. I also had the idea of search and exploration since that seems to me to be central to Hans Christian’s work also. I guess that in the end I thought the first line, He searched a year to find the cedar tree, was weak, without fire, even though its was the beginning of the thought. Anyway, for whatever its worth, you got me to reexamine the poem, Ben Naga. So, thank you.

      • There is a lot of good language. If anything perhaps the link from the opening and following lines to the main and closing message is not completely obvious. But then what we write often (always?) has a meaning for the writer that readers do not pick up on. Then again readers find meanings that elude the writer.

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