Apart, but linked in some profound way by the music of Bach on the airways – this is the theme of Jonathan Davidson’s piece from The Everyday Poet: Poems to Live by (Michael O’Mara Books Ltd, £9.99).

Christina Rossetti’s question, below it here and in the book, throws out its philosophical challenge from the Victorian era.


Too late to go out and nowhere to go

anyway, I content myself with this

celestial but dis-contenting music,


some stuff by J S Bach which they enjoy

in London very well. Your message says

you’re sitting down to listen to it too,


while busying yourself with things that must

be done or looking briefly at the last

high clouds. Although we are alone the Gods


of digital transmission have ensured

the sound they give to you they give to me.

Now all that is between us is the music,


that breaks into the orbit of our hearts

- no, really; so I believe – and holds us

like asteroids on such trajectories


decided by the pull of time and place,

until the final notes have crossed the sky,

until the final light-show of applause,


at which we are let go into the dark.


What are heavy? Sea-sand and sorrow:

What are brief? Today and tomorrow:

What are frail? Spring blossom and youth:

What are deep? The ocean and truth.