The cellist's hand
waits outside the music
pauses
beside his instrument
like an exotic fish
steadying itself
in the flow of the music
before dashing out
from behind a glowing coral
eagerly snapping up
the little notes that swim by
at his head
his cello bobs
like a seahorse
questioning
all that is
happening
as he tries to enter
the same stream
(despite Heraclitus's advice)
.. twice.
*******
For 3 wonderful nights over Christmas in the Chiesa San Vidal in Venice we watched with delight the cello playing of Nazzareno Balduin of the Interpreti Veneziani. His body transformed itself into the music as he played with such gusto and grace. This poem was written in praise of him in the still moment before he entered a piece...his hand floating in the air...stroking the music and taming it. Even when not playing he was playing! And doing so...so beautifully! So...beautifully!
I'm using my imagination at its most extreme and can almost see this happening. I think you've described the event beautifully. Next time we all meet up please perform this poem, Donall, because you bring words to life so spell-bindingly. Fran xxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ahhhhh perchance to dream.....Nice delivery. Liked the little story at the end too. Sid