Two or more people have a conversation in a room and then leave it. They leave the room and leave the conversation. The conversation is left in the room. But it has no story. It hasn’t been left with a story. There is no “about.” It is a pattern. Or a patterning. Just the relations. A bunch of prepositions lingering there. Some negotiation. Some coordination. All the social words with which we describe music: harmony, dissonance, chord, discord, resolution, fugue, counterpoint. It is left there. But it is not residue. More like a puppet. It moves. And might be dressed up. A puppet that is a teacher. A puppet that is a teacher with only limbs. And someone else, some other people, might come in and use it; pick it up and dance with it.
Here are a set of maypoles. They are like the midsommarstång danced around in Sweden, like liberty poles and arbres de la liberté that rally a gathering for someone to speak out in a small village in 18th century France or North America, like the poles plaited in Waldorf schools as a part of elementary education, like the Maibäume birch tree tied to the corner of the houses of lovers in the Rhineland. They are model size. Smaller rituals. Some move. Some are obstructed. Some are knotted from the outset. And some are too fragile to stand on their own.
All equally spaced around,
The even numbers face out.
The odd numbers face in—
they do not move, but act as gateposts.
The even numbers move.
Away from the center of the circle
And moving back towards the center of the circle
passing between the next gate post.
And moving back away from the center of the circle
Passing between the next gate posts.
And so on and so on…