The Fiddler’s Eye
Groove Camp 2004 (photo © Kathy Joyce)
The Fiddler’s Eye
© Donna Hébert, 1995, all rights reserved
Saturday night dance
fiddle and bow in hand
tools of my trade
Rockin’ rhythms
Grease up that bow, girl,
lay into it
until she wails,
cries out in a surrogate voice
our pain and ecstasy
speaks the monster’s lines
lulls our babes
to sleep sweet dreams
Ah, my Victorian lady,
your impossible waist
harbors modern tones
among the old. . .
Each time I play you
new things happen
inside us both. . .
Knitted up whole
in a tune-trance,
time slips sideways
I enter the music,
become it
dance inside the tune
on the edge,
balancing,
reaching for rhythms
to bounce off dancers
who anticipate me,
bounce my beat
Back
Back
Back
This is a duet
Dancers and music
locked in
perpetual motion
until . . .
Entropy disproven,
We alight together
on new ground
