A. E. Stallings

The New York Review of Books - - Contents -


i.m. Baris Yazgi

Re­ports said you were found Clutch­ing the case Con­tain­ing your in­stru­ment as well As mu­sic of your own com­po­si­tion.

You knew what it was to place Faith in a hol­low wooden ves­sel, Car­ried on waves, lilt­ing in har­monic mo­tion, Scales like wa­ter run­ning through your fin­gers.

I think of Arion of Les­bos, and his harp, Saved by a dol­phin in the leg­end; Of ac­ci­den­tals, flat and sharp,

Of pitch, and yaw. I think of the deep sound, Of the bow rolling across arpeg­gios, No bridge but the vi­o­lin’s bridge.

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