The Fiddle
 
 

       she plays a dream in ecstasy of mental love; 
       mathematics, resonant in melody 
       tune with delight the upper reaches 
       of her altered mind; 
       the drab room fades beneath 
       cathedral runrills of transported sound; 
       her step, deportment, vivid in the life of art 
        the bow string with a flick released, 
       the fiddle smoothly cased 
       a free diana to the soft door's knock, 
        she strides at once 
       in one wide movement opens up 
               her whole soul's welcome trust. 

       just so the years pass, as the hours, 
       the unstrung bow lies soft 
       beside the silent fiddle bridged 
       and tense within plushed darkness 
       while she stares, in the untouching 
       comfort of the dark, towards a door 
       forever never answered 
       like a draining dream 

               they muttered as they passed 
               the darkened, opened, silenced room 
               "a mood she's in, a passing mood, 
               "a stage she's in" while time 
               and stage and mood passed to description 
               of her unlived self, 

               they never wondered 
               that they heard no fluted phrases 
               and no browsing soar 
               escape the confines of that
               long opened door, 

               why should they doubt 
               who never heard the wonder, 
               never paused, before? 
               the music too was phase, 
               would be no more.. 

       just so the years pass, as the hours, 
       the unstrung bow lies soft 
       the fiddle, silent, tensely, darkly strung 

       the unlived openness, the art's delight 
       lies soft beside 
       the heart hope, silent, tense 
       and darkly strung 

       the virgin heart, beside 
       the lost membrane 
       the soft swell of the fiddle 
       with the unused resin block, 
       the rise and fall of breath, 

       victim ignored nor rose against 
       long muted pain, the flesh reframed 
       dare not suppress, 
       express. 

       years pass and miles, 
       and tears and trials pass, as buses, 
       distantly, a block away at night 

              and on an unsuspecting, 
              comfortable day 
              the bridge breaks in the dark 
              and with the sound at last 
              her silent block'd heart 

 
(C) Copyright 1999
ALYS
All Rights Reserved
 The Nexus Collection
ALYS

Blake's Law

COLUMBINE TRYPTICH
Ode
Queen of the May
Lullaby for the Dead
Communion
Dishonesty
Eye
The Fiddle

POEMS FOR FORT WORTH
Fort's Worth
For Cassandra
Soughing Song: Fort Worth

Futility
The Gate
Harvest
Pause
Punjab 60
Song
Stones
Ulster
Wanted: two in one


CONTENTS