Poem of the week: Iota and Theta … by Osip Mandelstam
His flute- his time and mood…
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He earnestly worships the Greeks,
Yet no recitals despite his eager wait
For long, how long we don’t know.
He is so divinely attached to flute,
Ever in his active rhythmic mouth
Fingers tuned well to notes of melody.
All by himself, all recollecting name
Of his birthplace, musical composers
He records, composes anew fresh and melodic.
Age and weariness, take their times and toll
Mild impact on my lips and hands
Laying aside my flute in a corner now.
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