Steve Reich's Electric Counterpoint

This poem originally appeared on Dagda Publishing's now-defunct website. 

1. Fast

Was this the ori­gin?
Was this the half-remembered mist
From which we fell, or drifted? Well,
It might as well have been.

Thin shafts of trem­bling sound,
Thin shafts of palely shim­mer­ing light,
Form moun­tain peaks, like EKGs
Ris­ing from frozen ground.

The dancer waits to be seen.
The dancer, trick­ster, starts his tune:
All parts at once, a loop­ing bounce
To turn the tun­dra green.

2. Slow

One of these days, on the green moun­tain­side,
One of these days we will go to the woods in the rain,
Lie there and look as the rain­drops make rings in the brook,
Part of the earth again, no need to hide.

3. Fast

It’s there to catch us fast.
It’s there wher­ever we can hear,
The dancer’s song, to urge along
Whomever he goes past.

Then join in, spring and turn.
Then join and fol­low through the trees.
Entwine, unweave, skip, march and leave
A sin­gle note to learn.