from Korpesco - Tuesday, May 10, 2005
accessed 1413 times An agonised appreciation over the whiney sound of a violin being raped.
His fingers hovered above the strings,
He tapped the hollow wood,
Winding the pegs, hands trembling,
He tuned it as best he could.
A minute passed like an hour,
As silence heightened suspension.
The first staccato notes were sour,
But served to sharpen the tension.
Suddenly full - throated tones escape,…
Along the bottom of sound they scrape.
Then notes arise, dark and shrill,
Pumped by alchemy of fiddle.
As torrents of melody raged and rolled,
He twisted, bended, swayed.
To music savage, uncontrolled ,
It led and he obeyed.
Perfection, fluid, torturous, entire,
And yet the speed increased.
Becoming shriller, faster, higher,
Sound throttled, then released.
The music reaches impossible peaks,
The violin insists… the violin speaks.
Not merely singing, telling a tale,
Fugues of terror, and a funeral wail,
Virtuosity divine, beauty terrible,
Combining logic pure, and feeling.
Driving past the limits of bearable.
I back away, cowering, reeling.
A new element of mockery infects,
Staggering the melody’s beat
Yet syncopation the song perfects,
Now it’s all the more bitter - sweet.
And it screams, it sobs, it sings,
Of horror and of pain.
Of souls rebellion against all things,
And lives lived in vain.
To the surface came my tears,
Hot, wet, throbbing.
And I if I didn’t stop my ears,
I knew I would start sobbing
He was swinging to and fro
As if the violin were a beast,
Stabbing strings with his bow
And still the music never ceased...
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