Like a Man Gone Mad: Poems in a New Century

The Streetcorner Violinist

81 The Streetcorner Violinist Under a movie marquee she slid the bow across the strings while passersby passed by. Few paused to listen. Even fewer left a crumpled dollar in a baseball cap inverted for the purpose at her feet. With both eyes shut she played something by Chopin. Perhaps a ticket charge for anyone inclined to listen might have guaranteed an audience, however small, since tickets always certify importance. Unticketed, her solo seemed like something rendered in the key of beggary for alms. But if it was, it qualified as beggary with class. Amid the noise of shoppers’ chatter, fumes from buses, auto horns and noise, one woman in a housedress played Chopin while no one listened, and the world spun on. That seemed to me worth noting. ...