Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review

Something by Vivaldi

Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review

Something by Vivaldi

Article excerpt

There's a word-there has to be, there always is,

But today I can't locate it-for how the quotidian

Errand-running self gives legs to the leafy

Glistening part of us that now and again surfaces,

Transporting that breezelike something with a pen

And notebook from a snug seat at the Norseman

One street back from the rain-bothered Liffey,

To a caneback rocker on the porch at Sewanee

Where oakleaf and birdsong stipple down breeze-blown

Onto the page you fill-to a sunwarmed rock beside

The Big Lost River where you set your fly rod down

And write. Or your improvised niche is this brick arcade

In Seattle, discovered not by design

And not exactly by chance, where a classical busker

Rosins up and tunes up and delights the air

With a dazzle of sixteenth notes under arches of rain.

The music scaffolds its ascent up an invisible

Peak, bouncing on swells like a yacht, cloud-bound

Elaborating story-lines around an allegorical

Citadel, sky-blue roads cutting a spiral

Up the angle of Paradise, like an apple

Being peeled by an exacting and pleasure-loving hand,

By a hand that is itself no more than smoke. …

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