BackWords Recordings, An Independent Culture Production House

Time's Passage

A Welcoming
A Statement of Purpose
New Launch
Business Presentation
Bids Results Notice
Motto and Manifest
Teaching Forth, Here
A Lyric Poetry Work
Essays of Interest
A Note on Intent
Public Address

Musical Poetics:

A Work of Lyric Poetry
for Shenpei, August 2018.

BERNARD, Abbot of Clairvaux -
Fountainhead of Cistercian Order,
A Wellspring of the Renaissance of the Twelvth Century,
The Formative Period of our Modern Rationalities -
Had a Vision concerning the Song of Solomon.
It was believed, following the great Ambrose,
That there were two Brides in the Song of Songs:
In Catholic Allegory these were Conceived as
Ecclesia, the Mystical Church, the Christian People;
Synagogue, the Mystical Temple, the Jewish People.
A rivalry between the two brides
Of Solomon/Christ leaves Synagogue
A woman broken, rejected, confused, and perhaps mad.
This rejection of Synagogue symbolised to Catholic Structural Theologians
God's rejection of the Jews and their Law.

Ecclesia thus becomes the Only True Bride,
The Christian Church as the New Jerusalem.

In Bernard's Sermon, however, the would-be
Rival Brides are reconciled by their shared
Love for a Common, yet Royal, Bridegroom.
Ecclesia accepts Synagogue as an equal Partner
In loving and constructing, as the Helpmate, a Solomon/Christ Structure made of us.
The overtones involve proleptic legendry on a Conversion of the Jews 
Prior to the Judgement and the Parousia of the Restorer of Justice instututing the Kingdom.


In 1994, I had a similar Constructing Vision:
A Man Sorrowed who was not a sorrower
Carried two candles through a rainstorm.
In his left hand was a many-coloured
Stained-glass lantern holding a white candle;
In his right hand was a red candle,
Exposed to the wind and rain
Yet unextinguished, giving a stronger light
Than the complimentary flame.

The Man entered a concerthall.
Many thousands were milling about in absent thoughts.
Each had a green candle.
Nobody's candle was lit.

Seeing him, they begged
With coin and jewels for his candles
Which they supposed fired expanding transcending magic.

A deal was concluded.

Each person dropped his donation into a 
Black box and then lit his green candle from
Either the red candle or the white.

A record was kept of each individual's choice.

Miraculously or not, few cheated, obtaining for free
A neighbor's illuminating flame.
The common belief was that only the red and white candles 
Of the Man Sorrowed himself
Contained the True Spark.

As it was believed, so it became:
The Theatre was well-lit.

The word of the miracle as spread quickly as
The Sparks of the Green, Red and White Candles.

As it was believed, so it became, leaving him
Accomplished of Light in his despite
Alas, both Brides are the same Entity in two hypostases,
A Queen with misplaced ambition who is also a Shadow Factionalist.
Such, it is peculiar to say and perhaps I transgress myself,
She is - a Sophia-in-the-works, our Favourite Mistake:
Beatrice, the complex Soul of Mary, birthgiver and wife.
Does El Elyon look in to leave? 
As the would-be World Emperors dally with her for ill legitimacy,
She flourishes and suffers greatb travail, more a Gnostic Sophia.
The psycho-biographical revelations were registered publicly
As Published Visions, proleptic Judgements:
William Blake's THE FOUR ZOAS;
Ludwig van Beethoven's LATE QUARTETS.
As a Remediation we stand strong in THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN and HELL,
For Ecclesia-in-Synagogue-while-Beatrice-playing-Enitharmon
Deserves - as a gesture to Good Galaxy God - to know, as herself. 
Combined in viewing her self-reifications Believers, Sceptics, Denialists,
Archons and Constructionists, Historians and Leader analysts,
Decide for furtherances.
Unified Earth delayed, a Dispensation ousted,

Buddha goes to bed: What ones to do?
The Prophets declare that she complies but to supply.
Need the Moderns ask why when the Ancients did not? 

Unawares, I opened up my door
And there in a glass on the writing desk
An arrangement of three lilies
And a noticing note:
"Solve the riddle
Of whom these mean
I'll take you to me -
Accepted of my dreams."

The Red Lily lies.
She says she Is what she Is not.
She leads me on and on.
But she never gives cause she hasn't got.

The White Lily prays.
She shines inside with tested Light.
She leads me to like Dawn.
And she always lives a Fiery Might.

The Gold Lily tries.
She's History and Meaning and Blood.
She comes when she is gone.
So I never can know her Love-mood.

With every Woman you take what's given.
She might draw you to Hell.
She might draw you to Heaven.
Same-same, as the black crow flies.
You always remember how to forget
How Love cries.

Sunset Mountain: Red-orange blues.
Top o'the world to you, missus;
I'm here for you to use.
Mixing together seems to be our fate righted;
But I won't countenance falling on my face
I'll be happy to help, at the going rate --
But people round here learn the how-to such a pace.

Can you understand why I hated the wait?
Sunset Mountain Blues.

Sunset Mountain: Devil-lake black.
I hear you have a child now, missus;
I hope there's nothing that you lack.
It's an interesting past,
But I heard you talking aloft
About what will truly last
About how I never got it off

For the record it's a confused past:
Sunset Mountain Blues.

It depends not on what you kinda kinda had
It played on sorry ripped-off had been had
I'll honour the paths you choose to choose
But I'd appreciate some help for those odded by these
Sunset Mountain Blues.

I know that I am bound for the world
    Deaf, dumb, and blind to me
I know that mind-sound in which I first one-day heard
    is a context in which all do agree.

So let the fires of war burn low
While Trees of Life await, budding green.
Knock not on doors just so you know:
The River: the Giver: Needs: Likes: Muddied clean.

You take a little I've heard of you
Multiply it by who knows who
Spice it up with a convenience crew.

Got Jesus mean
Got Jesus mean
And there's a lotta trouble roaring down.

Waken me, shaken me,
Mouth of the Tiber
Dread Form, Honour's Tyger.


In practice it doesn't work.
In practice, it goes berzerk.
In practice.
In reality,
It'll all dovetail peacefully.

Inside Practicality
The Thing I never see
Building into this Humanity-Reality.

Intelligence, sure:
Sensitive, pure.

Across more coherent lines.
Peace be in your eyes:
Let that be one of your sighs.

The Someday, I can make it.
And I pray I can't fake it.

A light not a system for your eyes,
A light , not a System of my own.
Mindful of the Wars;
Unexpectedly Grown.

Find me, a male
With the records that fail
And I'll save tail:
Go Elsewhere to wail.

Stars are out in the break of the Clouds.
They seem to be egging me to shout aloud.
Like a Star suspected of a Spot in the Sky
That, when looked at directly, is gone from the Eye.


Back on the mic
I hope she's playing well tonight
The dynamics with the situationals are controlling:
The harmonies pitched right
Approaching overload;
Synthesis out of sight.

That strange-passion girl
Pulling into town
Knocking on my door
Bringing me down:
Dread as my heart
See out again
Practiced words
Rehearsed partials.
Maybe she wants my world to crash and burn
Maybe she wants to see and learn
If I'm a blessing or a threat to them
If I know what really happened
That turned me towards
The kind I am.

When he was just green wood
He was sentenced to death
For perverting the people
But the Judge did not agree.
I am more like dried wood,
Burned, I respond with bright heat,
Lighting up people they don't have time to learn to see.

oo-ah, gonna shake this, this world,
oo-ah, tip it to replace the roots.
oo-ah, gonna shake out the world
Got a life too strange for the compilation books.

Don't want to conquer nobody
Don't want to rope in souls in my own kinda way
Don't want to be a cosmic know-body
Don't want to force God to hurry the dawn's new day.
Don't want to be freak or a whore
Don't want to be fool no more
Don't want to do this out of lust to power.
Don't want to evade the time of the hour.
Don't awnt to climb to the upper echelon.
Don't want to brief an imminent eschaton.
Don't want to warlord, but don't tread on me,
Don't love into war: Truth, baby, you will see.

I am Loyal; I am loyal to the Flag
I am Loyal; that's my political philosophy
I am Loyal; regardless to who's in power,
Let alone they or we
That's all an expensive, frustration bag
I am a thinking man, loyal to my flag.
I am Loyal but only by destiny.

Caught on a hot sharp roof.
Caught for a moment in the cobwebs of truth.
Invisible vision of meaning,
Endtime righteous gleaning,
Roundheads' rebellion,
Transcendent intention,
Dateline street-heat,
Computer synchro-beat,
Electron gunner,
Starry stunner:
On in the Deeplife we cautiously choose:
Where Words fail;
Concepts are mere Clues.

Stopping at a friend's
I saw it all
I saw
Walking by the garden fence
I saw the vine outside the wall
Stopping at a friend's.

Stopping at a friend's
I saw I am
I saw it all
I saw the truth that is ever men's
When I saw the vine outside the wall
Stopping at a friend's.

Stopping at a friend's
I saw I am I saw it all
All that ever never ends
When I saw the vine outside the wall
Stopping at a friend's.

Stopping  at a friend's
I saw it all
I saw
I saw the realm that God intends
The vine I saw breaking natural law
Stopping at a friend's.

Through all my years, young to now,
I've read of battles and histories of war;
And yet my musical mind inclined to peace.
I conducted myself, as best I could, with Gentleness
Yet I skirt Life, engaging No-one.
Detatched and Philosophical, 
Favoured by ghostly friends arising from books and music 
The thorn that nagged that I'd never served:
Peace does not become an Ordnanceman.

And Peace! is it no more than Tranquility in the shops and at the bar?
Peace, I'd say, in the freedom of Imaginism;
Commerce, to my eyes, will give us Cultured Ideas,
But Imaginism IS the Child of Vision and Love.
Are you Listening, my Ordnanceman?

We defend we say, yet we see no army
Shelling our cities, burning our crops.
We secure we say, but know too much
Of who is with whom in leanings and lovings.
It is different? we say, and tiny paragraphs entangle us in their Web.
As we wander, dash, or stride through our Way of Life,
We rely on the Ordnanceman.

A man who will kill in order to force
To appreciate the Secret concealed behind the Veil.
I, oblivious to that secret:
The hint we have is called Day-one.
Speak this Language.
We are more likely to bring Peace by upbraiding Josiah
And his love-crushers.
Regardless, the killer knows the power of Freedom
In the Reach of the Ordnancemean.

I've never believed in Glory; my patriotism is encultured,
Strengthened and softened by Others in Places afar.
The physicalities of war - the weapons, wounds, and suppliers
Are amassed into gestures - justified in the end.
The technology of warfare, intricate beyond contemplation,
Is a tribute to the possibilities of Mankind's Motivations.
I long to be trained in a Skill more pragmatic than Musical Poetry,
But I'm told that doesn't become an Ordnanceman.

He's been in the fore of the line
Working to bring in the due
He'll be on the floor, swing the slip
Seeing to see, doing to do
The wide world shakes for this man's sake
His hand dashes lightnings from his grip
Soldier Deepman Two

He's given to maidens of the mildest moon
Peace having been carefully worked on through
Happy to be cleaning his stables soon
Strolling the corridors in open view
Sharpening his skill, hewing his will
Serious as a wreck, even on a loon
Soldier Deepman Two

He's taught by high-hearted healers
Why the day is long, why the sea is blue
He's read textfulls of complex revealers
A threat hunter constructing from noticing clues
Running for desire, wielding his fire
His passion is his own, uprooting killers
Soldier Deepman Two

He's a beacon on a learning curve
Where 72 equals the seventy-two
He's a leader who knows meanings of unsure
A Cause when a fact is not always true.
Content if he's gone cause the judge knows he's tried
Using soft hands to catch the content of the nerve
Soldier Deepman Two.

I go to get at the heart's mystery.
It's Nothing New, I know from history.
I want to explore what you meant to me.
My only symbols are the Things I can't see.
Our love was a Lightningrod, a budding Tree.

I can hear the love before it starts:
A flight of rock and roll to their interesting parts.
Oddly Same, with the raising arts.
I can put it together; let some tear it apart.
Strong medicine for broken hearts.

I sing it now - a love-known Well
Which I made two-edged like the night I fell.
Of the Time of the Unspeakable, no more can I tell
The Very lights in the sky burned down to hell
And could I only sing it outright, surely, as a surety it would shatter that spell.

A young musician had let me through a door.
We say cross-legged, facing, on the floor.
She had some music playing on the air.
I drank in her Nearness, needing nothing more.
The mood shifted and my love lay all Before.
The Song ended. She went to the record:
Drumming, bassing, lyric straining to soar.
High flying Spirit-sound - we resonated in our Core.
I knew all at once what it meant to be Before.

She taught me this
With our Oneness Kiss.
Music is bliss
When it pulls you near,
Speaks in your ear
Forever I needed to hear:
I love you just for who you are.
You mustn't be a Star-child.

Just because you are.
And it is
And it is
And it is right now
Always Evermore.

Desert wastes behind, I stand here:
Two feet approach the well.
After my gifts of days
See into a woman's face;
Bored with herself,
She'd escape from daily living.
She gathers water for her husband,
Eyes tight, just looking me over.
A glance about and she turns to go.

"Give me to a drink," I quietly asked.
After all this time!
I still see in the life of self-present woman.
Something in us was, and was not.
She too tasted the incomprehensible.
She looks at me for shrugs.

Water! Cool and envleoping;
Enlivening, sip in swallow.
Drops taste of words in poetry,
Humanising, enlifting.
Can water fulfill this spirit?
Matter, enrich the aery fire of a soul?

If she knew those moments of love,
Eyes meeting for mingling,
Return space to this haunted man!
I yearned, and verse
Rejuvenation rehearsed.
Light will often haze,
Words become to fail.
I am not  prophet of man freed,
I am not a poet of liberation.

I am not; must I be as I am?

As the water of inspirings fills me again,
Touching older triumphant works,
I know mine own in vision.
Here, lost love of this woman, I see all:
To give for her enables to live.
Man's world, words unsensed;
Known with the imagined eye:
Thrownaway goods,
Unfelt yearnings,
Tricks of words
Moments of insight:
All the world is permeated by the Poetic Genius.
A medium lived through to be rarely glimpsed;
Still, to be understood behind the secret hearts.

And it is I who have this!
Poetry to eye forcing into the words.
Enraptured, I know!
Finest Jesus, I know.
Seducable by syllables and sentences
I step forward to enter.
Never before, for I've too seen
Never, like ever, is merely felt.
Climbing the awareness
To one taste.

I am ready
And on out.
Limitless Light left behind
I drove for the bar to clear my mind
I appeared while time to catch the act.
Once inside I know just what things I'd lacked.
I felt then for I could do anything
As I asked forward if I could sing.
I plied them to play one slow, true, and blue
And I sang songs that before me I knew:
Now, perchance, I can play to you. 
I am called a Prometheus.
The Title has resonances
Which strike terror into tyrants,
Which bring release to the captive.
Know, as I do, the stolen fire
Of spiritual light, stolen from the hearth
Of the uppermost levels of life.
The gods themselves fear this lightning,
This passioning flame of hope;
They entrust its dangerous heat
To priest and cleric, schooled and tested.
And I, I alone, have carried the torch
Beyond the wall of Heaven's confines.
I dared and I have received my reward:
Man-with-Woman has light to illumine,
Heat for the hovel on the wide heath.
I am called a Prometheus, and so I am.
I am tormented by the gods in my inmost heart,
Yet I travel on, bound by nothing itself.
Fear not Jove, O trembling Man;
The light now belongs to you,
And none can dim its glorious radiance
Save you yourselves, hated and feared
For sensing the secret wine of the Highest.
Torments of Jove, like stings of sleet,
Strike me, mock my open face.
Wrath I have left behind;
I have sublimest comfort:
I know, and Jove does not.
I am called a Prometheus,
Known thus to the Eternals
Who have, emboldened by my act,
Upset the fated futures of small man
And invincible demi-gods.
Now Eternity changes courses momently,
No longer following the plotted preordained;
Necessity banished, destiny now visibly evolves
Through each Emblem of Vision
Static no longer, rolling free,
Steered by Eternity's swift Imagination.
I am called a Promethes
And I shall proclaim Liberty to the captive.
Together we shall assualt Olypmus and attain a differing victory.
This spark of mine shall kindle a cleansing blaze
Never, never extinguished; never, never, never, never, never.
Man-through-Woman shall tame the fury of Jove's deceitful world
And ride the engines of power unbounded,
Overthrowing the jealous gods of warring, wounding, and wearying.
Thus I, long gone, shall grasp my peace-part.

Limitless light had left me behind
Though I'd known the words and touched their heart.
For the feeling of mine has become a part
Of long-forgotten poetry
More beautiful than they thought could be.
My thought reached into their far-future when
Something brought the song to her end.
I left for home, for you my friend
Sagely sensing a harmony to become again.
Choose your metaphysics well
The fortuneseller said to me.
Many people uncover hell
In the fancies of eternity.
I saw you in a dream I blessed one afternoon.
I call it a dream though it was more of a vision.
You were standing naked in my ante-chambered room
Practicing your latest surruptitious ism.
I had to run when the wall came down
And my fellow soldiers found themselves fine-berzerk.; 
Rock in my form had justly the sound
To keep me ensconsed in poetic works.
I fight to ascend, reawaken, renew;
To forge a language harmonious and true.
I study the verse of times gone dead
Thinking there is the key to the love that's been bred.
Art, in the past, was a virtuous calling
And not the debris of a culture that's falling.
I glory for my talent's responsibility;
I create with a new-found nobility.
When these words are polished and outside my control
Shall few perceive the poet's soul?
Is the way of your world to suppress, to despise
Those with the odd-light fixed in theior eyes?
Is so, then truly I don't give a damn.
I will grow to mature with my Muse a plan
And when I compose my script, to time
I'll lodge my visions of the world for the sign. 
Don't be so scatterbrained
Don't be full drunk in the rain
Don't use as reasons what you can't explain.
Get your act together
And I'll help it go down;
Get your act together
And I'll hang a sign on the sound:
I'm not waiting up for you!
I'm not going to teach
What you want me to.
I got to be someone somewhere.
I swear I'll leave you blue.
I'm gone!
Do what you're gone in to do!
The nightmare goes on forever
And I'm not here to rescue.
Like a swell-girl
She sees clear
With open ears.
In this unsure world
This is no longer here
Enough to fear.
If new flags unfurl
Let the continents move along
To a Type of Free-world
Where the Devil stays out
Of Children's songs
And Fools, pure fools,
Are wise enough
To not blow up the Road.
There's a history to it
And a mystery as well.
Believe me, she'll do it.
She's thought through to an orchestrated hell. 


In the End’s ending
It doesn’t matter why,
For in the End ending
It’s not something you chose to buy.
The Age will close
As Everyone knows
Collapsing “the Big Lie”.
Don’t try to die

The psychosphere is laden
With this winter rains;
They sold off the children
For capital gains.

The Earth isn’t right with it!
Nowhere is left to live!

What did you conclude so as to do?
No one blasts off for space with a slave for a crew.
Maybe this is an offense, but we’ll bury you too

What in God’s name do I need that I will say?
The sun is setting on your bought-blessing day
Mere so-what master of massed bit-powers
Wrong-writing now dated mystery played.



When I was just an Innocent, I thought
The world was just, the way it ought to be.
I read my books, I listened close, and I was taught;
I thought that every one in their town was free.
The years slowed and brought a difference in mind:
I know now, being of the elect.
There is no help found when seeing for the blind;
Because a man is poor in spirit we suspect.
The wealthy children have a better way, they say
And the laws of privilege are not found to be epealed.
I know of arguments to come from fools
Yet still I still-stand, gifted unto the rule.



This city can hope foul;
This nation gated hell.

I cannot stand for the proud
Who own the bloody winds;
I cannot scream too loud
Lest I alert their revenge.

I hate the game they play
Their cloak of silk and gold;
Distort me though they may
The absence has been told.

Hey hey hey I awaken
Peoples of the Earth;
Morn will soon be breaking
Because we sussed out rebirth.

We’ll give them their taste
Of machined music waste
For contaminating the ear
With generation’s tears.

Woe unto you rich and feared
Where will you go now the going’s gone weird?
Who do you hide from what has finally appeared?



Thinking out a scene I left behind:
That place I skirted has been grabbing my mind.
That city’s ugly since we got trapped inside
It made her run and it made me hide

How could I let her know
That our love wasn’t about funding fun?
That she wasn’t in it for just one?
How couldn’t I let her know?

How could I let her know
That dark water doesn’t clear?
That my time wasn’t near?
How couldn’t I let her know?

While you stay where you’re at and you wait for a call
We ask what to do: give good-byes to to-do’s?

Thinking on this scene I created from our time
That score settled down in my unwilling mind.
The city’s so ugly lest we find inside
What we made of it. It makes them hide.

How could I let her know
That she opened up our cool kid?
So to love her I did.
As I couldn’t not let her know.

How could I inform up the things I’d read
Into our world, our kind?
How could I detail out her messing round my head
Into our culture, this kind?



What happened?
What went down?
What happened?
Can you feel me?
Who made you death’s clown?
Hold on, we’re almost there.



O elevated social-babe of Buddha-Tao:
Like the wife of Mao Zedong,
Your employer had you:
A hoodwinking of the American Religion,
A remote viewer,
Until a broken arrowed
Proliferation proposal propagation
Whip-jacked our Homeland.

Confronting our Just War
She collapsed them,
Agonisers of her unto a
Creation for agonisation.
To own the Creation
Is no good Divinity.
But Anthropos, like an Archon,
Smelt them – we’ll out!

Bring this one into abode
For this Temple is not:
A Housing, as it wants space.
Shield both through your failure?

This spear may not be dull
O never-will, never-can, believed
Should you not instruct in him.

You have an appearance today
And your Counselor has fathomed you internal.
Lament or repent, you are tarried.
We who are but that fruit
Awaiting that beyonding
Will take to bed.

An Unfortunate-happy into a Fortunate-unhappy
Who may not be trapped
Who may vow in bereavement
Who may wait, stoic lessened Prince,
With greater wisdoms than you.

It cannot do otherwise.
So he cannot or wills not
Lest she hang in time
Furthering not.
So wash out!
She clings to ruin. 

SWAGGER (on the American Cultural Revolution)

Sit forth to climb:
The word-one to me,
Spoke through.

Mining song of Peoples,
Retirees in the field;
The impossible always pull out
Before falling over furrows.

Thank you for your services:
Thanking up lowers our friend.
Tend wounds to their fullness
Then set out again.

This collection is built upon a work titled "Musical Poetics".
©(TX) Brian Timothy Backer.
All Rights Reserved. 

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