LANDSCAPE IN CHIMES
The languid river sliced wood and land, cutting over
time the path it sought to take : I noticed a Monsignor
watching, praising his automatic God; I witnessed a
lowly housewife, pleading with the stars to bring her
family home. Every few paces, another problem yard.
This was my landscape in Chimes.
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As a youngster, I took piano lessons - unwillingly or
not - and found the scales and chords were not the
baseball field. I so wished to be elsewhere : Miss Frank's
hard piano bench, and doilies on the backs of chairs. It
all took time, and the rooms were very, very warm.
I did my lessons, and even her mother looked on.
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Later, things changed, and the landscape did as well :
Claire Avenue became a bestiary, turnpike and oil trucks,
brown dirt in the air. Playing Claire De Lune in that form
so soon began to make no sense at all yet, even as a young
boy I began wondering why no one noticed these things.
It was a landscape in Chimes, and everyone sings.
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