She was the violin and I was the bow;
We pushed the boat out like Antonio.
Our river of sound became a Grand Canal;
She was my lover, my friend, my pal,
But now I’m on my ownio
Recalling our Four Seasons:
Spring, lovely when we met,
Summer, Pachelbel’s Canon,
Fall, I found my ears were wet,
Winter, forgotten like anon.
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Reviews of "Vivaldi"
Reviewed by Rafika Anderson (Reader)
Reviewed on December 7, 2010
What an enchangting voyage! I love the vivid color and rhythm in each line. Lovely endeavor, Kenny. Thanks for sharing!
Having just returned from Venezia, I can picture this poetic music perfectly, our Ken! Venice certainly is a "river of sound" - mostly the high-heel-tap-tapping of the fast-paced latinos along the narrow cobbled alley-ways... a dismal sound, I guess, if of a lover in retreat! My wet-eared boy has this evening just returned and is now en route to Oxford's dreaming spires to meet instead with Anons and Dons xx
A whimsical treasure of a poem, absolutely clever! I can hear the music playing all through, and as you change tunes the needle scratching off the record.
Be well,
Christine
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Be well,
Christine