Welcome to the Music edition of Miracle Magazine! Founded in June 2012, Miracle e-zine, is a literary and art magazine. It is a bi-monthly magazine for and by writers and publishes works by emerging/ established writers from around the world. It seeks submissions in poetry, short-fiction, prose, non-fiction, author interviews, book reviews and art/photography. It mainly aims at promoting works by young writers and artists. If you write, then this the place that is going to shine your talent, no matter from where you belong.
THE MUSIC Miracle Issue 6 ISSUE I am sure that Pooja’s experience and advice would be able to help all those Spoken Word Poets who are thinking about using music as an enhancement to their performance. In May, The Poetry Place, held a competition on Tumblr for poems that had music weaved into them in any way. The poem below, Listening to Pop Music in Vienna, danced its way to the first place. The poem was submitted by literarylocker.tumblr.com. Listening to Pop Music in Vienna “It takes me about twenty minutes to write a poem,” I told him as we sat at the bar. I was relieved to find another person who spoke English in the haze of beer and loud music. My German was not very good, and there were many “false friends” between the standard language I had been taught and the local varieties of Vienna. My teachers did not prepare me for this. “I listen to the piece first, and then I listen to it again and I freewrite, and then I listen to it a third time and I incorporate the rhythm of the piece into my poem.” He nodded. “All that in twenty minutes, huh?” “Yes. The Viennese School inspires me so much. I love the form of it. The structure is so full and strong.” “Okay.” “I write a lot of poems about soldiers at war,” I said. His eyes turned down into his lager. “I once wrote about lovers in the Moonlight Sonata. Beautiful quartets.” And then with a sigh he took out his cell phone to check the time. The world wide symbol of wishing to be somewhere else. He stood up. “Listen—“ “Do you want to dance?” He looked surprised, but he smiled and finished his beer. “All right, why not.” He led me to the floor as the songs changed. An American pop tune I knew and hated. “Ugh. I left the country to get away from this stuff.” “They play it in every bar. It’s everywhere. No avoiding it.” We stayed there dancing though my whole body wanted to slink out of the bar. He draped his arms over my shoulders like a foxfur, and his eyes were level with mine. They were deep, endless pits of black. I felt 47