Quartets - Poem by Aisle Walton
I. Allegro Vivace
It was Weinberg and it was fucking great,
lost in the abandon of its own hard labour;
the brutal counterpoint that had us
clenching our teeth and nodding in the seats.
The Scottish pensioner’s ad,
Maggie and the funny man,
classics with classics,
and the old music feeling young.
They were crazies if you weren’t in on it,
changing clothes like time signatures,
singing energy drinks and building their songs
from the other unused spaces of the mind.
It is often the comforting agreement
that life is sweetened by mortality,
but so were the last chords unbearably sweet
when we knew that the cellist was leaving.
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