Desire Returns as First Chair
.
Clearly Brahms has a hand in this night;
She cannot sleep; there is music
Coming from the garden,
Someone without the sense or grace
To go to bed,
Perhaps the neighbors are up late,
The casements open.
.
She goes out, down the path, following the music;
Yes, it is Brahms, there is the deep intonation
Of the cello played
By a virtuoso,
The rich yet precise chords of a piano, the lyrical counterpoint
Of two instruments making love.
.
Then she sees that he has returned, Desire
And is waiting by the cherry tree.
Bathed in moonlight. .
He bends her toward him, takes his first
Kiss, kissing away her breath,
Taking from her, her flesh
Artfully recasting her fine bones,
Changing her to burnished wood
Curved, and hollow.
.
He draws his bow
Over her taut strings:
He touches her frets, his fingers hovering;
Of her emptiness, he makes a sonata;
Of her cry a vibrato;
Of her being
What the moon might sing of failed love–.
.
Night of barcarolles and shooting stars
Of surrender, quickened, released,
Variations on incarnate longing
Of an unsettled score.
.
copyright Jenne’ R. Andrews 2010
Opera played out in words: romantic music, dramatic scene, the fatal moment, the curtain falling.
I always love your poems. They have “it” — “it” being the race to what you know will be the most satisfying end — and tightening along the way.
Thanks Laurie– so nice to hear that poem works for someone– never sure– how are you? Miss you! xj
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