Arts Minded: Singing along with Emily Dickenson

Talk about it

Finally, warm enough to open my window, it’s thrilling to hear the trilling of the wren. That small dynamo may be nothing special to the eye but, oh, to the ear, it is a bountiful purveyor of song.

Unlike the gorgeous Oriole’s short poignant melody, which continues to inspire my piano compositions, the wren has a long, dazzling sequence that utterly intrigues and eludes me. Fascinating too is the variety of language not only in different families but also within a single bird.

The singular voice in human terms is nowhere more evident than in poetry. And in the arts it is the unique alongside the universal that preserves awareness of an enchanting depth to life.

With dedication to promoting poetry among the young in the our area the River Falls Community Arts Base is entering a third year of “Poetry on the River,” a summer intensive offered to youth 12-14 in cooperation with the River Falls Parks and Recreation Department and the Wisconsin Humanities Council.

Sessions will be held from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Monday through Friday, July 14-18. A wonderful collection of instructors includes Thea Ennen, Elise Gregory, Bryan Mulrooney, Ken Olson, Thomas R. Smith and John Wheeler.

The opportunity is only $20 and scholarships are available as needed. CAB requests registrations by Saturday, June 14 (note this is a correction of a previously published deadline).

Call Mulrooney at 715-222-1321, Sue Beckham at 425-7143 or Gregory at 273-4006.

A friend of mine, a singer and poet, points out that many of Emily Dickenson’s poems can be sung to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” That goes to show the interconnection between art forms and leads me to marvel at the array of local musical offerings this summer.

The calendar below will give you a heads up on some of these. But, as a prelude to the calendar, here’s Dickenson’s poem “Hope” to inspire a poetic, musical frame of mind:

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity

It asked a crumb of me

Here are some events and opportunities in our region: