PICKINGS
Poetry from NHI publications
STRINGS |
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Moscow, short of many things tea, toilet rolls, paraffin, also has a lack of strings for my step-daughter's violin, but another running stitch from London, the flights that sew this patchwork marriage, can bring such things. "Where did you get them?" she asks settling to the duet. The prosaic answer "A shop in Camden Town" brings a look of wonder. Julia, at twelve, has waited for so long she hesitates to lift the instrument's frail curves from its shell and fit them to her own. Her Mother, at the piano, high-strung from the day's confusions, cheeks still hectic, beats a tensioned wrist in time. And I can only watch this concentrated act. So much is wrong, but she must get this right - harmonise this Mozart, this Scriabin. A tempo of change and endurance floods at her pulse while I sit, knowing nothing but where to get strings in Camden Town. Able to do nothing but breathe to the music. Looking from mother to daughter. Breathing. Breathing deep as I can for three. |
GRAHAM HIGH |
from Wolf on the Third Floor ISBN 0 903610 25 6 Next poem Previous poem |
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