February 18, 2010 at 11:30 PM
I was not familiar with this sonnet until this morning - written by Gwendolyn Brooks, it was an email inbox treat sent from a dear friend with whom I went to graduate school. Enjoy.
First fight. Then fiddle. Ply the slipping string
With feathery sorcery; muzzle the note
With hurting love; the music that they wrote
Bewitch, bewilder. Qualify to sing
Threadwise. Devise no salt, no hempen thing
For the dear instrument to bear. Devote
The bow to silks and honey. Be remote
A while from malice and from murdering,
But first to arms, to armor. Carry hate
In front of you and harmony behind.
Be deaf to music and to beauty blind.
Win war. Rise bloody, maybe not too late
For having first to civilize a space
Wherein to play your violin with grace.
Sam, you've rendered everyone silent. : )
I'm STILL chewing on this, a week later.
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