by Frank Bidart
Bound, hungry to pluck again from the thousand technologies of ecstasy boundlessness, the world that at a drop of water rises without boundaries, I push the PLAY button:-- . . .Callas, Laurel & Hardy, Szigeti you are alive again,-- the slow movement of K.218 once again no longer bland, merely pretty, nearly banal, as it is in all but Szigeti's hands Therefore you and I and Mozart must thank the Twentieth Century, for it made you pattern, form whose infinite repeatability within matter defies matter-- Malibran. Henry Irving. The young Joachim. They are lost, a mountain of newspaper clippings, become words not their own words. The art of the performer.
from: Music Like Dirt. Copyright 2002.
Drawing: Jonathan Zawanda.