WHO DOES THIS? Six Hours of String Quartet
(Writing through a live performance of Morton Feldman's Second String Quartet)

by Nico Vassilakis


Who does this? Six hours of string quartet
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There was more
Water than expected
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A self conscious approach
To listening
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One after another
Waves beyond count
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A book you run fingers down
The length of a spine
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And now for language
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Cognition deviates
A hallway of epaulettes
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A horrid book
Unknowingly defaced
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To sense migration
Borders being hopped over
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A tickler of hair
Slowness enhanced for more
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Two simultaneous systems
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A page turns, a light swerves
A lack of proper counsel
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Nothing is diminished
How false is that
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Repetition visits often
It is gross distraction
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Awaits a certain combination
To reappear
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The interplay of shadow and
Music entirely thrown
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It is safe to say
You are looking for patterns
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Logic and intent are funny
They make the other known
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Momentary landscape
Suddenly
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Correlations are positive
For every one there is another
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A pyramid sideways
Attacked by surprise
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Too much of it
Hurts itself
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A gesture like a call for help
Breathing in unison
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Vessels in treachery
These instruments make other
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Is as genuine as
This sentence is not working
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Alleviate tension where
The word is a source of tension
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A furious exhale
All sixteen strings
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One demonstration of length
Has nothing (to do with distance)
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What you say here about discomfort
Will linger
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An elaborate trance
By elaborate, I mean, in free fall
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A wheel wagon of interludes
Connected to the axle
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And the intervals
They mesmerize, of course
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The letters barely held
Together are nervous
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Anything happens
In mid flight
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Textures involve
Repeating textures
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Tactics evoke
Repeating tactics
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You leave the forest
And carry the forest with you
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Time alters the uprights
Forcing them to bend
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Why travels
Forward by light
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Nothing retards a setting
That won't generate and ooze
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This snake pit of wires
Straightened
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One ball effects change for others
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This glass of water
Made to last weeklong
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The focus required
To keep the bird perched
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This reverie for boredom
Plus time signatures that extend
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Church at the end of fire
Asphalt going into thick wood
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A declaration
Gets folded back into the deck
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Of the countless
Section by section it proceeds
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One hemisphere fills
As, oddly enough, the other empties
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A tray of opposites
The waterline will distinguish
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Inhaling navigates composition
A reckless will to continue
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We are who we are here
A shared recklessness
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What silence is
Will fill with more
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The closing is coming
Where nothing will at last be open