Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Ruth Sings The Blues

Keats, in his Ode to a Nightingale, wrote of the bird's song:
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
Tonight, for some reason, while at a performance of Rachmaninoff's 3rd piano concerto, I was haunted by that last phrase, and tried a different direction.

Amid the alien corn,
uncomforted, forlorn,
she lifted her eyes to the moon
and felt a silent tune
screaming to be born.

Allowing her lips to part,
she heard... and unburdened her heart.

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