Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer's twelve-speed bike.
The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell's chords are played away.
So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante's heaven, and melt into the air.
If it doesn't, of course, I've fallen. So much is chance,
So much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove
Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.
My first poem by Donaghy. A wonderful, thought provoking poem. Juxtaposition between the bicycle and the harpsichord very appealing.
I quite like this in an odd way. The juxtaposition of a racing cycle and a piece of music is novel, to put it mildly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
... and always risking a 'fall'. Beautiful, deep poem.