What is a clarinet but a straw through which the universe
draws lamentations and joy from a broken vessel? —Anonymous
.
Clarinet
She’s a voice, they say
but when did you hear a human voice
sing such grace
in baroque quintets and ragtime bands alike?
lilt through the ornaments
and lament with so much reason?
glow
like a low star
then slide on up and scatter notes
far and wide, a firework
under the blackwood skies of the Jazz Age?
This is the world as sung to you by a long-
serving, sensible
weary angel
compassionate after all she’s seen but
not deceived.
Her saddest song
has a whisper deep inside
of translunary laughter:
the sorrows of all the people of all the world
shadow the phrases
she makes dance.
And with such sweet tears
– you realise
when it’s too late – she sings
that same old song again
for you, distingué lovers
so newly met in the garden
by Judith Taylor
from The Open Mouse
12/12/217