September 29, 2004 at 8:55 AM

Not quite poetry:

My violin quivered a bit
I shook my head,
smiling at the irony of the evening.
The eyes of my fingernails
whipping fast around the running 16th notes
they had never seen before.
My bow slid and gripped
the strings strong and glad.

My knees bounced joy
ahh...new music.
Ancient airs and dances
we dance.
Then all slowed
and "solo" appeared
taken by surprise
the ancient air sang a breath from my arms.
Large beautiful arcs.
the Baton Stilled.
and we rehearsed the transition a few times.
the Third time,
my shoulder rest became a conductor of electrodes
EKG
The fists of violin
reaching through my collarbone.
"whole note, now...just play the whole note" music lost in directives from intellect.
Gripping ventricals, aeortia, heart.
Punching, gripping, twisting, pumping
the chortles of flow
quickening with the anger,
my instrument bore of my own fear
until the separate beats became connected-
so fast to one pitch,
maybe the 440 I heard in my eardrums.
But we were jointed by jabbing wooden arms
and I could not lower from shoulder
or calm the quiver of a simple line.
The music went on,
but I was no longer ancient air
or dance.
More like a vibration of solid stone
turning red around the profile
millions of acute senses
in the aftermoments of failure.
did anyone notice
the barrage of violin to body?
Or was it
a secret between the best of friends?
JW