BackWords Recordings, An Independent Culture Production House


A Welcoming
The Revelation of Influence
New Launch
Motto and Manifest
Bids Results Notice
Business Presentation
A Lyric Poetry Work
Essays of Interest
A Statement of Purpose
Public Address
To the Audience
A Note on Intent

          Musical Poetics


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 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 Helpmate, 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 instutuing the Kingdom.


In 1994, I had a similar Constructing Vision:
A Man of Sorrow who was not a soorower
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,
Exdposed 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 cash 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 of Light himself
Contained the True Fire.

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

The word of the miracle spread quickly as
The Flames of the Red and White Candles.

As it was believed, so it became, leaving him
Accomplished of Light in his despite.

Unaware, 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
Let into 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 tender light.
She leads me to the Dawn.
And she always lives in humble Might.

The Gold Lily tries.
She's History and Meaning and Blood.
She comes and then she's Gone.
So I never can know her Lovemood.

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;
But I won't countenance falling on my face
'll be happy to help, at the going rate --
But people round here learn at such a slow slow 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 theres nothing that you lack.
It's an interesting past,
But I heard you talking aloft
Aboutw hat 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 with these damned
Sunset Mountain Blues.

I know that I am bound for the world
    Deaf, dumb, and blind to me
I know that mindsound which I first oneday 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 litle I've heard of you
Multiply it by who knows who
Spice it up ith a convenient screw.

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

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


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

Inside Practicality
The Thing I never see
Building into a Human Reality.

Intelligence, sure,
Sensitive, pure.

Across more coherent lines.
Peace be in yr eyes:
Let that be one of yr signs.

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

Peaceful as the Stars.
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, the situations, are controlled -
The harmonies pitched right
Approaching overload,
Synthesis out of sight.

That strange-passion girl
Pulling into town
Knocking on my door
Bring me down
Dread to my heart
See out again
Pracitced words
Rehearsed partial
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, rip 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 for 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 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, R or D.
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 tin roof.
Caught for a Moment in the cobwebs of truth.
Invisible vision of meaning,
Endtime righteous gleaning,
Roundheads' Rebellion,
Transcendent Intention,
Dateline streetheat,
Computersync Beat,
Electron gunner,
Starry stunner - 
Mysteries of 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 defends
The vine I saw breaking Nature's Law
Stopping at a friend's.

hrough 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, is 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 you
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 cultural,
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 Peace does not 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
Just cause it's a fact doesn't mean it's true.
Content if he's gone cause the judge knows he's tried
Using soft hands to catch the current 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 Cross of rock and roll to their interesting Parts.
Oddly Same, as the apocalyptic arts.
I can put it together; let you tear it apart.
Strong medicine for broken hearts.

I could 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 the 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 player:
Drumming, bassing, lyric straining to soar.
High flying Spiritsound - 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
What you forever needed to hear:
I love you just for who you are.
You mustn't be a Starchild.

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 drink," I quietly asked.
After all this time!
I still see in the life of 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 to 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 apace to the 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.
Seducible 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.

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

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