Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN THE ORCHESTRA, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: He'd played each night for months; and never heard Last Line: Fiddled on, dreaming of her quietly. | ||||||||
He'd played each night for months; and never heard A single tinkly tune, or caught a word Of all the silly songs and sillier jests; And he'd seen nothing, even in the rests, Of that huge audience piled from floor to ceiling Whose stacked white faces sent his dazed wits reeling... He'd been too happy; and had other things To think of while he scraped his fiddle-strings... But now, he'd nothing left to think about -- Nothing he dared to think of... In and out The hollow fiddle of his head the notes Jingled and jangled; and the raucous throats Of every star rasped jibes into his ear, -- Each separate syllable, precise and clear, As though 'twere life or death if he should miss A single cackle, crow or quack, or hiss Of cockadoodling fools... A week ago He'd sat beside her bed; and heard her low Dear voice talk softly of her hopes and fears -- Their hopes and fears; and every afternoon He'd watched her lying there... A fat buffoon In crimson trousers prancing, strut and cluck -- Cackling: "A fellow never knows his luck. He never knows his luck. He never knows His luck." ... And in and out the old gag goes Of either ear, and in and out again, Playing at "You-can't-catch-me" through his brain -- "'Er knows his luck."... How well they thought they knew Their luck, and such a short while since, they two Together. Life was lucky; and 'twas good Then, to be fiddling for a livelihood -- His livelihood and hers... A woman sang With grinning teeth. The whole house rocked and rang. In the whole house there was no empty place: And there were grinning teeth in every face Of all those faces, grinning, tier on tier, From orchestra to ceiling chandelier That caught in every prism a grinning light, As from the little black box up a height The changing limelight streamed down on the stage. And he was filled with reasonless, dull rage To see those grinning teeth, those grinning rows; And wondered if those lips would never close, But gape for ever through an endless night, Grinning and mowing in the green limelight. And now they seemed to grin in mockery Of him; and then, as he turned suddenly To face them, flaming, it was his own face That mowed and grinned at him from every place -- Grimacing on him with the set, white grin Of his own misery through that dazzling din... Yet, all the while he hadn't raised his head, But fiddled, fiddled for his daily bread, His livelihood -- no longer hers... And now He heard no more the racket and the row, Nor saw the aching, glittering glare, nor smelt The smother of hot breaths and smoke -- but felt A wet wind on his face... He sails again Home with her up the river in the rain -- Leaving the grey domes and grey colonnades Of Greenwich in their wake as daylight fades -- By huge dark cavernous wharves with flaring lights, Warehouses built for some mad London night's Fantastic entertainment, -- grimmer far Than Bagdad dreamt of -- monstrous and bizarre, They loom against the night; and seem to hold Preposterous secrets horrible and old, Behind black doors and windows. Yet even they Make magic with more mystery the way, As, hand in hand, they sail through the blue gloam Up the old river of enchantment, home... He heard strange, strangled voices -- he, alone Once more, -- like voices through the telephone, Thin and unreal, inarticulate Twanging and clucking at terrific rate -- Pattering, pattering... And again aware He grew of all the racket and the glare, Aware again of the antic strut and cluck -- And there was poor old "Never-know-his-luck" Doing another turn -- yet, not a smile, Although he'd changed his trousers and his style. The same old trousers and the same old wheeze Was what the audience liked. He tried to please, And knew he failed: and suddenly turned old Before those circling faces glum and cold -- A fat old man with cracked voice piping thin, Trying to make those wooden faces grin, With frantic kicks and desperate wagging head, To win the applause that meant his daily bread -- Gagging and prancing for a livelihood, His daily bread... God! how he understood! He'd fiddled for their livelihood -- for her, And for the one who never came... A stir Upon the stage; and now another turn -- The old star guttered out, too old to burn. And he remembered she had liked the chap When she'd been there that night. He'd seen her clap Laughing so merrily. She liked it all -- The razzle-dazzle of the music-hall -- And laughing faces ... said she liked to see Hardworking people laughing heartily After the day's work. She liked everything -- His playing, even! Snap ... another string -- The third! And she'd been happy in that place, Seeing a friendly face in every face. That was her way -- the whole world was her friend. And she'd been happy, happy to the end, As happy as the day was long... And he Fiddled on, dreaming of her quietly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BETWEEN THE LINES by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON BREAKFAST by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FLANNAN ISLE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON GERANIUMS by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON RETREAT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON RUPERT BROOKE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE ICE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON |
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