Mar 2016
At low of night she strokes
Familiar tastes exquisite,
And quietly invokes
The spirit of laureate --
An orphic instrument
Unfit to take for granted.
It’s profound atonement
Stirs in her heart despondent.
Her fragile shell’s embrace
Of wood and gut and metal
Point out her shallow race
And weakness fundamental.
Yet all the night she moils,
Mistrusting augmentation,
And secretly despoils
The overzealous beacon.
-- Kerry Herrmann
Familiar tastes exquisite,
And quietly invokes
The spirit of laureate --
An orphic instrument
Unfit to take for granted.
It’s profound atonement
Stirs in her heart despondent.
Her fragile shell’s embrace
Of wood and gut and metal
Point out her shallow race
And weakness fundamental.
Yet all the night she moils,
Mistrusting augmentation,
And secretly despoils
The overzealous beacon.
-- Kerry Herrmann
I am a violinist and wrote this poem to express the emotional connection I have with my violin and with my practice. I practice at night, usually until 2 or 3 am. It is a very intimate experience practicing when the rest of the world is quiet.
