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76 charity recital (suite, 1936: a trio) Liking stories he studies the program notes: Milhaud wrote film scores for Jean Renoir traveled a lot listened to jazz in Harlem hated Debussy . . . Well so what? But that’s what pulls him: his story: history Trapped in this pleated hall like a weevil in an accordion no wonder he feels squeezed He can barely breathe among these silver-haired angels of philanthropy spreading on penitential seats like monks in heat The clarinetist violinist both in white: pale males beside the epigamic splendor of the pianist’s peacock gown reverse nature’s usual scheme their shadows sharp twitchy as grackles against the sanded floor Almost invisible microphones dip like spiders toward their heads To their left a stained flag droops unmoved Warhol was nearly right: no one in this room will be famous even briefly 77 but maybe everyone’s a saint for fifteen minutes a time when we transcend our narrow selves like a trio coming together once and reaching out as Francis fed the sparrows History’s the water we walk on for a while before sinking to some ocean shelf to be shuffled rearranged and played again like notes in some new suites rich and strange (though few will listen he thinks smiling to himself) and his fifteen minutes up at last he sleeps ...

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