Donald Revell


Schubert was poorly. Sun motes danced an arc

Of emptiness over the lens of Vienna, and staves,

Rivers of them, purled towards the brute frontier.

Romance is the kindergarten of savagery.

Striving for health, music presses backwards

Against time, against the walking woods

And bleached-out sunlight of tomorrow—tomorrow

Morning worst of all. A clear lens, a stave

Crowded with sharps and signatures, opens

Onto a hastening multitude in old clothes—they

Were the music, once upon a time, returning

Ragged and boisterous from Arcady.

Schubert is among them, youthful and macabre.

The sun is the Romani walking beside him.

 –Donald Revell

from Canandaigua by Doonad Revell (Alicer James Boks, 2024), a book that b”compounds itself of archaic beauty and immediate freshets, of fair vigils oof praise aand invention.” — Angela Ball


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