He walks along in personal space
- now - worry a lot,
because there’s a violin case in his left
hand.
You never know what’s in a case like that!?
The man stands up and grunts, and starts.
He lightens up strings
as if Bach is here, now,
in present tense: string-tense: a sigh.
Hear sixty three repeating bases,
respectful, alert:
stabbing a bow;
roundabout bow
of melody, rhythm and chord.
Like Hopkins he springs
triumphantly tragic;
grief in Bach’s pain!
Alone! And hear an elbow pull
become scratched - a touch
of homecoming earth-time;
heavenly business.
A solitary man gyrates
and puppets in dance,
grieving, he’s busy,
- a lonely string screams:
so catching and real – Bach’s wife’s death.
Let’s grieve like a Bach;
screech in a bow-string,
grieving vibration.
But Bach is up now – lifting now,
envisioning hope.
Play us to ecstasy:
Heaven and Earth!
Has anything changed since last breath?
A man and his bow,
back in its case, away, walking away
from intimate personal space.
Wonderful. Made me curious.
ReplyDeletethank you John for the music
ReplyDeleteOut of the violin case comes the magic.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteYour lines have lots of energy! I can hear Hopkins' influence, too.
ReplyDeleteexcellent, it is the first of your poems ive read, i can see why you have such a big following.
ReplyDeletehumor and grief... this poem felt jerky and abrupt to me at moments, but the overall flow pulled me to the end. I think I'll have to read it a few more times to really internalize it.
ReplyDeleteI love it. Is very clever I know what I see. Don't think it needs over analyzing. Just enjoy - I did. Thank you
ReplyDeletebrilliant !!! :)
ReplyDeleteSecond verse, last three lines - my favourite bit ... brilliant :-)
ReplyDeleteWonderful! Thanks so much!
ReplyDelete