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More poems by Michael DonaghyMichael Donaghy | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (2) | Books by Michael DonaghyBooks by Michael Donaghy

Machines

Michael Donaghy

Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer's twelve-speed bike.

The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell's chords are played away.

So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante's heaven, and melt into the air.

If it doesn't, of course, I've fallen. So much is chance,
So much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove

Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.

Added: 7 Apr 2002 | Last Read: 21 Aug 2017 5:34 PM | Viewed: 8551 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4348/ | Viewed on 21 August 2017.
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