Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Shostakovich, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Me

Shostakovich, Brahms,
Tchaikovsky evidently
wish beyond the grave

that I would play the violin
less gravely. When I bowed
their notes to them today,

they chided me: Scrap all
the urgency, they said,
don’t dread the music: sing.

To miss the delicacy –
to miss the innocence –
is to miss everything.


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