Bound, hungry to pluck again from the thousand <br />technologies of ecstasy <br /> <br />boundlessness, the world that at a drop of water <br />rises without boundaries, <br /> <br />I push the PLAY button:— <br /> <br />...Callas, Laurel & Hardy, Szigeti <br /> <br />you are alive again,— <br /> <br />the slow movement of K.218 <br />once again no longer <br /> <br />bland, merely pretty, nearly <br />banal, as it is <br /> <br />in all but Szigeti's hands <br /> <br /> * <br />Therefore you and I and Mozart <br />must thank the Twentieth Century, for <br /> <br />it made you pattern, form <br />whose infinite <br /> <br />repeatability within matter <br />defies matter— <br /> <br />Malibran. Henry Irving. The young <br />Joachim. They are lost, a mountain of <br /> <br />newspaper clippings, become words <br />not their own words. The art of the performer.<br /><br />Frank Bidart<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-the-twentieth-century/
