by T. Wignesan

Each sound
                   free or bound
each petal
Each quivering utterance
bold and round

these handicrafts
these unthinking feelings
flower in the minute thinking fingers
                               untranslatable intent
when other more enduring
stop the outpour
                           tax and stem
and call for aged patience’s munificence :

At this the heart will pause
                before labour
the consciousness severing from congenital cries

« I’ll pound harder for patience’s sake »
                                     the penitent heart upbraids.

« Only so, until I too have learned
    to punish words into some form
then men of all climes may equally say
     ‘This I understand for my father did as well
      as forefathers to grandchildren might dwell’ «

Might one say again
 – need it be said –

Why this shape for the violin
Is this the only colour of sound
That must with horsetail on bark
be whipped to wail and whine
                                  like an harpy

© T. Wignesan – 1960 Heidelberg, Germany. (Rev. 2012)


T. Wignesan




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