Tuesday Poem - 'Midday Gavotte' by Alex Skovron

MIDDAY GAVOTTE

‘a duet in which the other instrument is silent’  
                                                       — Henry Miller

                             

His fiddle burns in the sun

as the shoppers crowd around to listen,

looking for the hat. He has come

out of nowhere, his teeth are missing

and his oversize jacket

wriggles with the music, and he glistens

with sweat. His violin is lacquered

a brilliant ochre, the bow

dances, and the eyes bestow a regular rapid

smile (not the lips though),

and the little stool that he perches upon

is almost comically too low,

and a second almost identical one

stands empty a foot away.

Just then he nods at the invisible companion,

sniffs, and ceases to play –

but continues tapping out the colourful beat

with his bow; he nods again

and smiles surprisingly, his absent teeth

gaping, as if in pride

at so adept a partner, steals a fleet

inspection of the financial side

of the performance but continues conducting.

All at once he nuzzles high

into his instrument, slyly whispers something

to the second fiddle: with a poetic

toss he resumes his own song, disrupting

the loud silence of traffic,

all the unseen migrations, the mall’s frenzy;

the audience is clapping

as if in appreciation of the tacit cadenza

just concluded – then sever

slowly, diplomatically from the climaxing dancer

 

to go about their day. Weather

is turning: he stops, collects his disconsolate chum

and they walk off the stage together.

Alex Skovron

I finally caught up with Alex Skovron's 2003 book The Man and the Map (Five 

Islands Press). I googled and you can still pick up copies here and there, or if you

bump into Alex around the Melbourne traps you might be able to score one off him,

like I did. That was a great night the Melbourne Poets Union put on at The Architect's

Basement, and I came away with an excellent book. I mean, I knew Alex was a fine 

poet, just I had never got round to sitting down to a book of his. You know how it

is. And now I want more, and I want to hear Alex read his work. I just haven't heard

him read as much as I would like. I often bump into him, like he bought me a coffee

at a reading at Fed Square (I owe you a coffee, Alex, must remember for next time

we meet) but he is not up on his hind legs in front of the microphone as much as one

would wish.