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Eugene Park Cellists and DreamsThe sting of metal against flesh Increases as I force myself to play with blistered fingers like a drowning person that struggles to stay above the surface I struggle to stay in rhythm Every vibration that pulsates through the instrument is amplified as I crescendo to the climax A cloud of resin hovers over the bridge Rhythm hits a ludicrous speed As that of a heartbeat of a cornered prey I rise and rise until I stop and exhale Resting for what seems to be endless measures The accompaniment playing tunes that slowly swell and fall in volume Then, with a subtle motion I place my bow on the string and increase the tension in my arm In a swift motion I am broadcasting the deep, thick and rich tones of my life Slowly but ever surely I play higher and louder until the torque of my arm is at its maximum Fingers are nothing but a blurred movement and my body movement renders me Unrecognizable Then it happens I meet the enemy A wrong note Inside I sharply wince An ice cube has been put down my back However I must not show it For what I don’t show The audience will never know Letting the music play The doors of my common sense are flung open And I am lost in my own sanctuary I finish the piece with the confidence of a marching band But with all the caution of a soloist I finish and take my bow |
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