Some years ago, a poet friend told me about Milkweed Editions, a favorite indie press of hers located in Minnesota. I decided to check it out. I went to the website and browsed through titles. One caught my eye immediately, a poetry collection titled Playing the Black Piano by Bill Holm. I ordered it.
Why?
I was curious about the kinds of poets Milkweed publishes.
I love music.
I play piano.
I wanted to know what this man had to say about playing the black piano.
In Bill Holm, I discovered a burly white-bearded Minnesotan of Icelandic descent (this last figures in much of his work) who writes in a way that stirred my imagination and quickly engendered a sense of kinship. His book whetted my appetite for more. I continue to buy and read him. How his poems and essays have influenced my own music and writing I can’t exactly say, but I hold on to these lines from his poem, “Magnificat.”
It’s a mystery why one
note following another
sometimes makes music,
sometimes breaks the heart,
sometimes not.
Don’t ask the reason…
Listen as long as you can;
sing whenever the right tune
arrives inside you.
I’ve always believed that the poems I’m meant to read will find their way to me and the ones I’m meant to write will, somehow, make their way to those meant to receive them. Reading Bill Holm, I recognize the mystery in all this. I honor his reminder to listen—and sing when the right tune arrives inside me.