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This poem is taken from PN Review 206, Volume 38 Number 6, July - August 2012.

The Calm Roger Garfitt
for Tristram and Anne Robson

There is the tension of
the strings, bronze
braced against willow

until every note
is sovereign
and rings true,

and there is the calm
in the fingers,
time for every note

to find its feet in
the lordless dance
and be lost in the joy

of it. I remember
your calm, Tristram,
when all the joy in us

had died. You bent to
the harp as Brocard said,
'May she rest in peace',

and found a lament that
...


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