A Musician's Wife

Between the visits to the shock ward
The doctors used to let you play
On the old upright Baldwin
Donated by a former patient
Who is said to be quite stable now.

And all day long you played Chopin,
Badly and hauntingly, when you weren't
Screaming on the porch that looked
Like an enormous birdcage. Or sat
In your room and stared out at the sky.

You never looked at me at all.
I used to walk down to where the bus stopped
Over the hill where the eucalyptus trees
Moved in the fog, and stared down
At the lights coming on, in the white rooms.

And always, when I came back to my sister's
I used to get out the records you made
The year before all your terrible trouble,
The records the critics praised and nobody bought
That are almost worn out now.

Now, sometimes I wake in the night
And hear the sound of dead leaves
against the shutters. And then a distant
Music starts, a music out of an abyss,
And it is dawn before I sleep again.

by Weldon Kees

Comments (10)

I love this poem and everything I've read so far. I am a fan. I want to be inspired some more, for my poetry is hungry and starves for attention.
This poem let's us walk beside him as he visits the musician- - not only that, but the poet let's us into the sad corridors of his heart and mind. Poignant, yes. Well-written, yes. Forgettable, no.
On how time can shift you into another state, poignant and filmic
A haunting poem that touches on mental illness, not in the poet but in the musician. Very sad but extremely well written.
A music to life and the twist and turns are fantastic.
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