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To all those pretty houses & loudspeakers,
Those who lose and persist
Raven my friend
To all those pretty houses
Those mighty loudspeakers,
Electrostatic, hybrids, B&W, JBL, Quad,
I miss you guys, oh mys...
Although you, Sonus Faber, are there
Powerful, black piano perfectly, but silent
You are the vortex engulfing me
More than all the substratum of thee.
To my abandoned hot or cold pools
I say we are all just incredible fools
Crying over things
Missing dings, trebles and all that bass,
You, that are lucky to still keep your ass.
Oh Square waves, oh intermodulation
Total Harmonic Distortion,
Oh gods of pool nights, sexy blues,
Oh returning vinyl master,
Yor compass, the bass, dispersion,
You return to my Beyerdynamics
Instead of Stax and Senheizer
You are the stillness of moving mood
The intellectual support as essential food.
Lucky with my daughters and boys
I still love my remaining toys
Forgetting the difference between men and boys,
I sense that invitation to the blues
A moving violation
Just an invitation.
Medium or scramble, a battle with booze
A fight I cannot afford to lose.
Depression is nothing but nature
As blues are sang on the front doorstep
I wait for that better half I haven’t yet met.
“The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
...
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!)”
Thank You for your greatness, Elisabeth Bishop
Companionship in losing cities and houses,
May your dearly ghost, be praised,
And poetry raised to the summit, Humanity raised.
