Of yearning for
in that?
With minutes to go I swiftly wrote the line across the
page – just those four words – stretched out
so that they covered all the staves.
A few notes above each word, some scribbles to
suggest dynamics, or effects – I didn’t know what I had
made.
Time to go, the baritone said, have you got
something for me?
Shame-faced, I passed the sheet to him,
he looked it over, smiled.
We listened to the other students’ work –
jolly melodies, brooding trumpet solos, a comedy
bassoon.
When my baritone got up to sing the room went quiet.
Curious.
I sank down in my chair.
His voice hit the g-r with force
a sonorous growl
rich and clear,
a shock – like I’d been shaken,
surprise on all the other faces too.
Then he slid
or leant
into the ees
beautiful and clean,
the room was quiet in a way I’d never heard before,
the loudest silence –
was it good? I thought.
It seemed much more embarrassing if it was,
and I was now suppressing something –
laughter –
but it didn’t feel like laughter – wasn’t funny.
His voice was hovering – both still and not
still – the air was saturated,
no, suffused
with it.
Then over the consonants he went –
skittering like a rock skimming a lake.
