The Pianist by Tony Kitt

on

|

views

and

comments

The Pianist

Władysław Szpilman in Warsaw

Music grows on wave crests.
When the sails of sound are at half-mast,
music breaks up into pebbles.
Each soloist is a finger dialling
death’s number.

Only the nameless dwell in the heart
of non-being. I am hiding
in a finger store; I am groping
for my invisibility visa.
My body is staccato suppressing legato;

each breath, a flageolet of defiance.
Strung together with my hollowness, I yearn
for the warmth of the imaginable.
Who is out there
skimming every syllable of existence?

The night, all bricked up…
The seeds of future flames
underneath the ideology crust –
for a life span; maybe
more than one life span…

 

Tony Kitt is a poet from Dublin, Ireland. His family hails from the West of Ireland, as well as from Italy and Greece. He has worked as a researcher, a music critic, a literary translator, a creative writing tutor, and a magazine editor. His poetry titles include Endurable Infinity (University of Pittsburgh Press, USA, 2022), Sky Sailing (Salmon Poetry, Ireland, 2024; forthcoming), and A Quiet Life in Psychopatria (MadHat Press, USA, 2024; forthcoming). His chapbook called The Magic Phlute was published by SurVision Books (Ireland) in 2019. His poems appear in multiple magazines and anthologies, including Oxford Poetry, Poetry Ireland Review, Poetry Daily, The North, Cyphers, The Cafe Review, Plume, Matter, The Fortnightly Review, The Honest Ulsterman, The New Ulster, Under the Radar,etc. They have also been translated into Italian, Greek, Romanian, German, Ukrainian, Albanian, and Chinese. He edited the Contemporary Tangential Surrealist Poetry anthology (SurVision Books, 2023), as well as the anthology entitled Invasion: Ukrainian Poems about the War (SurVision Books, 2022), and was the winner of the Maria Edgeworth Poetry Prize.

Image: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1295064, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Share this
Tags

Must-read

Two Poems by Joshua Walker

Glass Houses We hide behind glass—thin, trembling breath,shattered silence,each crack a raw wound,a secret bleeding light.Truth fractures us—yet in jagged breaks,strength flickers, trembling,not a mask,...

Two Poems by Bill Ratner

They Send Me to the City to Stay with My Auntie I hang my jacket in the hallwayher apartment is oldmade from shoestring potatoesit smells...

 IF FREEDOM DIES by Alan Abrams

IF FREEDOM DIES What’s next for us, if freedom dies–For those of us, they smear as woken—must we wear their yoke of lies? They seal their...
spot_img

Recent articles

More like this

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here