I play your music.
My fingers stick to piano keys.
Too many eighth notes.
Too many pauses with your deep
breaths preceding and following between the two-and-one-eighth beats
per measure that are really two-and-one-eighth beats
plus an eighth rest that equals
3
beats
per
measure.
I want to rest a whole rest: four quarter beats. . .
not an eighth rest,
not a half rest,
not even a long pause.
But the whole rest.
Yes, the whole rest.
Yet your notes string me along,
and I play
your music while I look for the rest.
The whole rest.
Monday, August 22, 2011
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2 comments:
Nice metaphor. I like the repetition of "the whole rest." It makes the poem rather kinetic and almost gives the poem a breathing feel as it's spaced throughout the poem. Even the word "whole" makes you take a breath as you say it. This is probably my favorite of the poems you've posted here. Good stuff!
I absolutely love this poem! Like Brent, I agree it's definitely the most striking of your posts. There's a powerful rhythm to it all, and I get a tragic message about intimacy and holding on to the routine and what's established. The musical metaphor enhances this theme.
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