“Orpheus with his lute made trees”
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
For Philippe Entremont
What use is music lacking fingers, strings,
And tremolo, the purity of voice
Of flute in Grieg’s concerto, flute that sings
Like Gabriel who really must rejoice
In beauty up above the last, supreme
And holy movement? What might be the use
Of pieces flat on paper, lacking gleam
Of baritone and tenor notes let loose
Through thick male throat, of violins without
Emotions Stradivarius built in
Unless the bow makes hearts explode and shout?
Without the sacredness of sound, wide sin
Results. Conception, composition, bars
On sheets alone are alien like Mars.