Frank Corcoran

Words will sweat this day, melt like butter in this heat. Good for planting lettuce. Rilke-Keatsian time all parched and breathless till the little breeze, il venticello, sidles up. How think tones in this breathlessness ? Well, Pythagoras did it in great Sicilian temperatures, Skalkottas, poor Xenakis, Basil the Monk and others. It is that will to tone we want. To tone down nature´s noises and ciccadas and birds and sheep and cows and the sweating horse; let the willed tones up, out and down on five lines and four spaces. The will to make, to whistle and sing yourself free. Hot ceol. A warm piece. Melting beauty.