John Cage at Harvard, 1988
Sonorous
he reads into a mike
a text he means should be
devoid of meaning.
In the semi-circle
of the wooden theatre
we’re respectful
of his fame.
A handout explains
the trouble he has taken
to achieve
a random text.
“To have so tinged”
he intones
“my Soviet sudden change …”
He gives it light and shade.
Feeling floors and walls
begin to melt and slide
I cling to grammar
and to fact.
A student
scrabbles in her bag
to silence a radio
turned on by his talk.
Under a young man’s legs
in the front row
an unscheduled dog
shakes itself.
C K Stead