She’s lovely, a petite
strawberry ingenue
stepping to the sparkling Steinway
before a sea of black
She bows to the audience,
unaware of the faces
forgetting to breathe
then sits before the Steinway,
closes her eyes,
silently waits one measure of tutti,
then disappears
into the spirit of Mozart.
...might I be found in words I leave behind
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I sat in the front row listening to the North Carolina Symphony tonight, as part of my work as an MFA student at the University of Wikipedia. I came home and tried one approach after another to write about the experience- nothing worked. This is the best I got- a quasi-Imagist poem that feels very unfinished to me- but if I didn’t put it out there it was going to drive me crazy and I wouldn’t get any sleep.
At least it’s not another flarf poem.
Yeah, I think it needs some work, some sharpening. And I think your drawing conclusions for the reader at the end is gratuitous. It’s only “semi-imagist” because it takes us inside the pianist’s mind instead of making us imagine it from the imagery.
Definitely. I didn’t feel it was done- but I would not have stopped messing with it and gone to bed if I hadn’t.
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All I had was the phrase “strawberry ingenue” and the totality of the orchestra experience. I struggled mightily to express something of the experience but it just was not coming. I got quite frustrated.
I can understand wanting to play with this one some more, but you’ve got some very nice phrasing to expand on. It will be interesting to see the progression.
Thank you. I do want to revise this one but I made a point not to mess with it today.