Monday, 22 February 2010

Poem by the Dutch writer Anna Enquist


The cello is alone. The message was:
it’s been called off. The string quartet
has been scratched off for god knows why,
all preparation been in vain. The scores still
stand important on the music stands; it’s time
for loss and ridicule and shame.

Strange emptiness refusing to relent
invades him as he slowly, richly bows

his bass-line score. Great care to no avail
that no one still expects, as if he,

credulously, satin-spun, for someone
who won’t come now smooths the sheets.

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