Allegro

by Tomas Transtömer

I play Haydn after a black day
and feel a simple warmth in my hands.

The keys are willing. Soft hammers strike.
The resonance green, lively and calm.

The music says freedom exists
and someone doesn’t play the emperor tax.

I push down my hands in my Haydn pockets
and imitate a person looking on the world calmly.

I hoist the Haydnflag—it signifies:
“We don’t give in. But want peace.”

The music is a glass-house on the slope
where the stones fly, the stones roll

And the stones roll right through
but each pane stays whole.



This was a poem found in the preface of a book I'm using for my second-to-last linguistics research paper. A delightfully unexpected surprise, one of those flights of happiness that flutters through every once in a blue moon.

It seems that lately I've spent nearly every waking moment in the library, which is really quite depressing. The end is in sight, however-- only two more research papers, one midterm, and one formal lab write-up left before Thanksgiving recess, and I'll get the midterm and a research paper and write-up over with in the next few days.

Research papers aren't so bad as long as they aren't crammed in with too many midterms.

Sometimes I regret signing up for four classes, but eight weeks into the ten-week quarter is a little late to be thinking that. Besides, they're intro classes. And hopefully after this a 3-course term, no matter how difficult the classes may be, will seem indecently manageable.