My Little Poem: "timelessness resounding into time"

"Singing Bowl" by Malcolm Guite

Hello, Poetry Friend

One of my poetry friends gave me a singing bowl for Christmas. It sits on my piano and calls me to practice singing and to end practicing. Malcom Guite’s poem “Singing Bowl” is not about singing. But it’s not not about that either.

Singing Bowl

Begin the song exactly where you are,
Remain within the world of which you’re made.
Call nothing common in the earth or air,

Accept it all and let it be for good.
Start with the very breath you breathe in now,
This moment’s pulse, this rhythm in your blood

And listen to it, ringing soft and low.
Stay with the music, words will come in time.
Slow down your breathing. Keep it deep and slow.

Become an open singing-bowl, whose chime
Is richness rising out of emptiness,
And timelessness resounding into time.

And when the heart is full of quietness
Begin the song exactly where you are.

– Malcolm Guite

A couple of weeks into learning this poem by heart and loving it but getting nowhere, memorization-wise, I decided to turn it into a breathing exercise — the kind I do as a warmup before I sing. Inhale — pause — Speak out the line in one supported breath.

That exercise helped me hear the poem’s iambic pentameter — daDUM, daDUM, daDUM, daDUM, daDUM — in this otherwise unusually ordered sonnet. Iambic pentameter is a redbud tree in bloom upon which bees feast. It’s just all kinds of right.

Friends, let us feast, line by line.

1. Begin the song exactly where you are. Julie Andrews agrees, Mr. Guite. “Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.” (“Do-Re-Mi,” The Sound of Music)

2. Remain within the world of which you’re made. Here I am today, about to sing for Mass. In the big church. In the little church. It is 7:30 a.m. It is noon. It is midnight. It is 9 a.m. It is 11:15 a.m. It is 8:30 p.m. It is 6 p.m. (or is it 7?)

3. Call nothing common in the earth or air. The music in my hands is old. Is new. Is Latin. Is Spanish. Is English. Is the first verse of Silent Night” in German, and this is a funeral.

4. Accept it all and let it be for good. This exact service will never happen again.

5. Start with the very breath you breathe in now. Let your belly expand, your chest open. Start a smile in the back of your throat.

6. This moment’s pulse, this rhythm in your blood. Feel the rhythm before the first note.

7. And listen to it, ringing soft and low. Bells ring to signal the start of the bells of the voices of every person gathered here today.

8. Stay with the music, words will come in time. Even poet-me understands that words yield to music at such a time as this.

9. Slow down your breathing. Keep it deep and slow. Ujayi-breathe through the whole service, especially when you’re sitting. If you veer into shallow waters, return slowly to the deep.

10. Become an open singing-bowl, whose chime. Make your soft palate a singing bowl.

11. Is richness rising out of emptiness. Let it rise to the top of this 50-foot ceiling.

12. And timelessness resounding into time. Let it resound to the balcony, to the altar, to the Pieta in the back corner.

13. And when the heart is full of quietness. Voice full, heart quiet, one note at a time.

14. Begin the song exactly where you are. The song truly begins when the music ends.

And just like that, I had it. Here is Malcom Guite’s “Singing Bowl,” the breathing-style version.

Poetry Journal

• Read the poem. What do you notice? What do you like or not like? What questions you have? and at least one way in which the poem speaks to you.

• What is your experience with an actual singing bowl? My only other exposure was at yoga (hence, my reference to ujayi breathing).

• Read the poem again, aloud (if you didn’t the first time). Is there anything new you notice this time?

• Write your own poem about a singing bowl. If you like, email me what you write.

Happy poeming!

Megan