August 2010
PLAYING TO THE DOGS (a poem written during lesson in teacher's garden)
August 25, 2010 12:29
PLAYING TO THE DOGS
they've come for the musicians, not the music
they're not concerned about legato, rubato, allegro or
pizzicatto (they're bored by open strings)
the only vibrato is in their tails
Do they prefer the sleepy languor of D minor,
the bright clarity of A major,
or the work-a-day stolidity of the key of C?
The violins may be screechy or sublime,
halting or heavenly, it's all the same
it's the price of a bowl of food.
Buddha stands watching, contemplating,
knows that flowers, animals, people, music
are transitory, ephemeral
Only the cosmos is eternal.
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