MYSTERY SONATA
Heinrich Biber 1644 –1705
He tears notes from the throat
of his violin, a savage gathering
blood and sinew into sudden music
taut as a tendon, glistening wet
on the surface of an open wound.
Shadows there are now, and light
lining up on ridges, tracing lines
of bone and hair on skin.
The woman hears the trammel
and tread of footprints. They mount
her spine - the legion of history drops
its baggage, scrabbles to set up camp
on the tip of her scapula.
He is a madman, this dead musician
his violin nothing more than an ancient tree
cut down. He sends reconnaissance troupes
of sound ahead, instructs them to navigate
the rise of her shoulder, circumvent
her clavicle, find a way into her chest
cavity. She is packed with kindling
splinter-dry. His bow parts her ribs,
singes the corridors of her body.
And look. She stands to leave
the room. See the telltale burn marks
where the soles of her feet touch
the floor? Leger lines smoulder
beneath her chair. There is the threat
of fire in the air.
I believe this classic Claire poem - a favourite of mine - was the first poem I hard you read. It has the capacity to reverberate ... for years!
ReplyDeleteHi Claire,
ReplyDeleteThis one reminded me of your 'Button Shop', another tour de force.
I like the way you balance the almost violent intrusion into the interior with the aesthetic experience: Music like mystery invades the body, nearly sunders it in these poems.
The Elizabethans were very fond of anatomy analogies, particularly in their aesthetic and polemical pamphlets. Your poems are like anatomies. A very good book on the topic is one by Devon Hodges, Renaissance Fictions of Anatomy.
John
Music as an assault! "Packed with kindling" is fierce and alarming, rich and dry.
ReplyDeleteDear Kay - lovely to think you remember this poem from an earlier reading (2002 that would have been... ) Thank you - and, too, for refreshing my memory. L, C
ReplyDeleteHi John - apologies for the slow reply. I've been away from home and computer this past week and am still a few steps behind myself.
ReplyDeleteYour comments are always so carefully considered, thank you. I welcome the idea of my poems being like anatomies... the notion prompts me to do further research. Devon Hodges' book looks like one worth hunting out - I see it's available through Amazon; I wonder whether our university library might have hold a copy...
Your recent poem to Melissa is very beautiful, John. It magnificently encapsulates her language and her sensibility.
I'm so pleased our (pl) paths have crossed. Your writing is splendid (forgive the inadequate descriptor.)
Claire
Dear Mim - you are generous as always.
ReplyDeleteNow that I'm home and back on the blog, I look forward to catching up with your most recent posts. I know you are home in New England and that spring is bursting all around you - and that your tomato seedlings survived the trip back from South Beach. I will let you know I've visited...
Love, Claire