This is based on a 4th of July tradition at Chautauqua, audience participation in the holiday concert. The first time I attended, though, I didn't know what was going on. I hope the poem makes it clear.
The Fourth of July: Chautauqua, NY
We are given paper bags as we enter the amphitheater –
as if we had forgotten to pack our lunches or are in danger
of hyperventilating during the concert. When we get to
“The 1812 Overture”, though, we are instructed to blow them
up and then pop them on cue, so the hall will resound with handmade
thunder – the gunshot sounds we made in the school cafeteria,
a harmless prank in those pre-Columbine days when trench coats were worn
by grizzled, hardboiled detectives, not pink-cheeked snipers
Now we await our chance to be the cannons’ roar and wish that’s all
there was to war and all that was left of rocket bombs was the faint
fireworks that glimmer over the lake like temporary stars.
The Fourth of July: Chautauqua, NY
We are given paper bags as we enter the amphitheater –
as if we had forgotten to pack our lunches or are in danger
of hyperventilating during the concert. When we get to
“The 1812 Overture”, though, we are instructed to blow them
up and then pop them on cue, so the hall will resound with handmade
thunder – the gunshot sounds we made in the school cafeteria,
a harmless prank in those pre-Columbine days when trench coats were worn
by grizzled, hardboiled detectives, not pink-cheeked snipers
Now we await our chance to be the cannons’ roar and wish that’s all
there was to war and all that was left of rocket bombs was the faint
fireworks that glimmer over the lake like temporary stars.
No comments:
Post a Comment