At last, George Frideric Handel
cuts/caresses to the quick:
his baroque concerto grosso
in F major does the momentary trick:
distracts you into thinking
his accomplished comfortably
corseted amusements might slice
through this dull lugubrious confusion
and relax you: straightforward theme,
untaxing fugue, much less exacting
than Bach’s tediously virtuous etudes.
Interest doesn't have to irritate.
Expletives can be implied.
Euphemisms can abide. But ha! –
tough (gerund of the “f” word) luck.
One ride upon the wings of Handel’s
sweetly inter-gliding strings and you’re
bestride your yearning for a certain
kind of touch, and everything
is once again too much.
.
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