b.z. niditch | the three s's

Galina Vishnevskaya


My uncle
shook the Swiss
conductor’s hand
and asked
if his prodigy
could sit in with
the first violins
though sweating
in my white shirt
I made my way
that summer
for the outdoor concerts
once leaving my Maltador’s
Chant near my case
from Casablanca,
and here
in subtle finger phrasing
I hummed Schnittke,
Stravinsky and Shoshtakovich,
my three S’s
by hopefully passing by
each others eyes
without attention
on long rows,
swearing off adolescence
in my short pants
from everyone’s stares
and later I met Galina,
Dimitri’ s exotic wife
whom I pretended
sang the love letters
by Tchaikovsky
of Onegin just for me,
I later found my Chant
now autographed by Galina
together with a kiss
on my cheek.

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