[Allen Tice]

Martin, I did violin until I was twelve and quit because of a dispiriting teacher. I would never complain, however, even ever so little, really, not the least, no, really, no! ‘bout a cymbal clash on the ‘zact instant, delivered with pin-point timing. You’ve got us g-string touchers so wrong. I forgive you. You can’t know what it’s like to do third position sans vibrato unless, unless—oh well, timing is all.

I actually Like your poem—hear the high e-string mosquito whistle far away? What a looker! then two open strings and the bow frog shaking with pressure. Sonata in A.

Banjo, kazoo, shawm, now there’s a few words, Fliss, that I relish. Cimbalom is one more. Nice imagery. Enjoyed a great deal. Do more like that. Please.

I have a thing called Tanglewood that’s in my current book on Amazon, which responds to the experience of outdoor music at several US venues. To be posted when I get back from buying groceries.


mmmnnTanglewood

mmnn Is there music here?
Now the children in afternoon
Step the meadow. Courtly measures
mmnn Salute twilight.

mmnn After setting sun,
Gossips hush to muted hobnob.
Hoots and squeaks reverberate
mmnn Soft through heaven.

mmnnCloudlets ride above.
nHow the cimbalom resolves!
nArtists steady into silence.
mmnn Hundreds listen.

mmnn Ennui scampers out.
Closing rhythms laud the hillsides.
Time returns. Warm night’s hearers
mmnn Hurrah, and exit.

PS: I’ve made a post publication change in line 2, from “of” to “in”. This will have to be scribbled in by hand by me in my stack of physical copies, by interested buyers, and altered in any republication.