Poetry Corner


Well-Known Member
This is a poem by Sarah Maguire. I thought the techies on the site may feel honoured that a poem has been written about them. I think it's superb.

The Instrument Repairer

Your sax in hock for six weeks
now lies in pieces on the floor
mouthpiece, crook, body and bell.

This is the exploded view.
The tubing, the unsheathed rods
spilled onto the carpet
in a Chinese augury,

the homeless keys,
pieces of eight
patient for discovery,

all strewn around the empty body,
its tone holes speechless
next to their crown of thorns -

the shock of the key-springs
bristling from each post -
long thorns on a thorn bush
out of bloom.

Even the skin is wounded
the tarnished brass
fuscous and bronzed,

foxed with verdigris
by the seeping acids
of spit and sweat.

And these are your tools -
a surgeons palette
arrayed at your side -

mandrils, swaging tools,
reevers and burnishers,
planishing hammers smaller
than a tool in a doll's house.

For two days
rain stipples the window
as you balance and hone,

recorking the neck pipe,
tapping the dents smooth,
then seating each pad

with shellac and a flame
till the fluorescent leak-light
shows no leak.

Your shaved reed dilates
in a tooth-glass,
swelling with moisture

as, piece by piece,
with key guards and touch felts
you remember the body,
till your Selmer VI is whole.
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