(Sorry this video no longer works, but try this link instead...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSkYpzikcdM )Below are two poems I wrote as a result, and I'm leaving them just as they hit the page all those years ago, when this music spoke to me for the first time.
Tarka, Quena, Drum, make the ether thrum.
The theatre's high vaulted dome would be the sky,
if the pipes were home, in Bolivia.
Joyous, noisome sound echos far around
and struggles to unleash the ties
that hold it earthbound, under skies that beckon.
Bright music swirls around. Pan pipes, drums and flutes
hurling notes into the air, that soar on high and hover there,
then dive down helter-skelter chutes,
to the depths of the bass drum notes .
The ancient rhythms pound, robbing mind of thought;
soul and body both repeat the ancient music's dancing beat
that all the instruments have caught
with their glorious, rainbow sound.