back STEVEN RATINER
Schubert (with the volume turned up)
Measure after measure.
Lieder strung with barbed wire.
~
At this volume, the speakers tremble.
The German tenor, his voice
like ripened fruit with
the rot gouged out.
~
Too much grave in this Ave.
More despair than grace in her Maria.
~
On such an exquisite morning, how could one
do anything but sing? Spring-stirred hillsides,
cloud upon cloud like heaven’s battlements,
even the columns of smoke quickly dispersed
by a southerly breeze.
~
Immeasurable.
All those hollow black eyes gazing out
between the taut black staves.
Bard
Schubert (with the volume turned up)
So It Goes