Clarinettist, The
Fainlight, Ruth
Pale round arms raising her clarinet
at the exact angle, she sways, then halts,
poised for the music
like a horse that gathers itself up before the leap
with the awkward, perfect, only
possible movement
an alto in a quattrocento chorus, blond head
lifted from the score, open-mouthed
for hallelujah
a cherub on a ceiling cornice leaning out
from heaped-up clouds of opalescent pink,
translucent blue
a swimmer breasting frothy surf like ripping through
lace curtains, a dancer centred as a spinning top,
an August moon
alone, in front of the orchestra, the conductor’s
other, and unacknowledged opposite,
she starts the tune.
RUTH FAINLIGHT’s
twelfth collection of poems, Burning Wire, is due out from Bloodaxe Books (U.K) and Dufour Editions (U.S.A.) later this year. . . .
Copyright Hudson Review Spring 2002
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved