Dan Wyke
Fleadh
Whistler
Instantly entranced, like snakes by a charmer,
we watch his thick-fingered hands typing
on his toyshop stick a calligraphy of notes
that tie loops in the air, leading us by the ear,
Pied Pipering the other players.
Fiddler 1
Sweat flicks off his forehead fast as the notes
sparking off the strings - elbow conducting -
and getting underfoot: infectious bug, both cause
and cure. So he must play on until the fever
burns out dancing. More power to his elbow!
Flautist
When the others give up, unable to express
their longing, the one who was sipping stout
lifts the flute to his lips. . . Music flutters
like butterflies brushed from a bush, gentle as
the love-call of an owl - showing how it's done.
Bodhran
No name in English for the man who holds this
this ghost of a goat with a bone for a stick.
Once, perhaps, unseen, he would've grown bold
beating his fear on its full moon,
simulating hooves stampeding down a hillside.
Fiddler 2
Cheek pressed against it like a lover's head
resting on his shoulder, he strokes slow tunes
on a heartstring rarely touched but always taut.
The sadness we suffered from our first love
has lasted longer than we thought.
Harpist
Circles of silence expand from the woman
who is playing rain with her fingers,
weaving a tapestry of sound. Heads bow under
the ripple - even the barman leans on the bar -
as she sings to a quiet centre.
Instantly entranced, like snakes by a charmer,
we watch his thick-fingered hands typing
on his toyshop stick a calligraphy of notes
that tie loops in the air, leading us by the ear,
Pied Pipering the other players.
Fiddler 1
Sweat flicks off his forehead fast as the notes
sparking off the strings - elbow conducting -
and getting underfoot: infectious bug, both cause
and cure. So he must play on until the fever
burns out dancing. More power to his elbow!
Flautist
When the others give up, unable to express
their longing, the one who was sipping stout
lifts the flute to his lips. . . Music flutters
like butterflies brushed from a bush, gentle as
the love-call of an owl - showing how it's done.
Bodhran
No name in English for the man who holds this
this ghost of a goat with a bone for a stick.
Once, perhaps, unseen, he would've grown bold
beating his fear on its full moon,
simulating hooves stampeding down a hillside.
Fiddler 2
Cheek pressed against it like a lover's head
resting on his shoulder, he strokes slow tunes
on a heartstring rarely touched but always taut.
The sadness we suffered from our first love
has lasted longer than we thought.
Harpist
Circles of silence expand from the woman
who is playing rain with her fingers,
weaving a tapestry of sound. Heads bow under
the ripple - even the barman leans on the bar -
as she sings to a quiet centre.
Page(s) 20-21
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
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- Lamport Court
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- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
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- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The