12 March 2009

The Blind Fiddler

When I walk with the blind fiddler,
I sometimes close my eyes,
pretending to be without sight,
allowing him to lead me.

Mama told me not to go near the fiddler.
His breath reeks of whiskey,
he curses and wears rags,
sleeps God knows where.

Mama says the fiddler
plays the devil's music--
it sounds like a baby crying,
or two roosters fighting.

When the blind fiddler plays,
I hear honey-bees buzzing,
the neighbor cat singing,
or Mama and Papa in bed at night.

The fiddler needs me
to help him down the street.
I hold my hat out for coins,
dance barefoot with my eyes closed.

~David Samuel Thomas

I googled myself today and found that this poem I wrote back in 1996 is floating around cyberspace. Originally, I think it appeared in an online poetry journal. I have a recording of my son Andrew reading that showed up on some German guy's podcast.

Listen to the recording or download the MP3 HERE

No comments: