still point

At the still point of the turn­ing world. Nei­ther flesh nor flesh­less;
Nei­ther from nor to­wards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But nei­ther ar­rest nor move­ment. And do not call it fix­ity,
Where past and fu­ture are gath­ered. Nei­ther move­ment from nor to­wards,
Nei­ther as­cent nor de­cline. Ex­cept for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

— T.S. Eliot, ‘Burnt Nor­ton’, Four Quar­tets

A tiny lit­tle piece, still point is a kind of in­ter­sti­tial, false si­lence writ­ten as an in­ter­jec­tion to Heinz Hol­liger’s Mo­bile for oboe and harp, a work with an open form con­sist­ing of 12 mod­ules. It was writ­ten at the re­quest of the Orfea Duo for their ‘Mo­bile Pro­ject’.