writing is not how music is supposed to be
a house where the trees are all bent one way
on one side the tower
on the other a string of railroad cars.
the bridge is violet
the county line infinity
the grand canal vanishes
a certain kind of quality of being is possible
When I went to Germany I visited Beethoven’s house and bought
a postcard reproduction of part of a score. I bought it because I
believed I could see individual notes scratched out. I thought
Beethoven had made a mistake, that he had begun something and
changed his mind. . . . this gave me great hope.