ANTON FLOYD
Schooled A poem is never finished; it is only abandoned - Paul Valéry for Malcolm & Elaine Urquhart How I picture this is this: In school every morning with metronomic accuracy through the open window I listen to the sounds of a piano from one of the music rooms. Someone is practicing the gamut of diatonic and chromatic scales over and over. It lasts an hour. It is like a mantra. I listen and imagine someone seated, a straight back mirroring the upright instrument; the strength in the hands hidden in attenuated fingers; and the eyes closed, perhaps, to focus on the sound. This is dedication to an art. Over time my ear is attuned to each version of each scale. Each variation in each attack is nuanced. This is, I suppose, a personal quest for mastery one that never ceases. I revisit this time to weigh it in my scale of words, balancing the ones to leave in with the ones to leave out, until, for now, all I have left is this poem. © Anton Floyd 2023 November - December POETRY & WRITING © liveencounters.net
