Lola Ridge

(December 12, 1873- May 19, 1941 / Dublin)

The Fiddler - Poem by Lola Ridge

In a little Hungarian cafe
Men and women are drinking
Yellow wine in tall goblets.

Through the milky haze of the smoke,
The fiddler, under-sized, blond,
Leans to his violin
As to the breast of a woman.
Red hair kindles to fire
On the black of his coat-sleeve,
Where his white thin hand
Trembles and dives,
Like a sliver of moonlight,
When wind has broken the water.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Poem Edited: Wednesday, February 8, 2012


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