There’s a picture stashed away on my computer – took it long before I was ever really any good at taking photos to begin with, but it’s still one of my favorites. It was a quick shot. At the time of taking it, I wasn’t really thinking too much about composition or structure – I was on vacation in Montreal, walking around in what has to be one of my favorite places I’ve visited to this date – the Old Town, just a corner’s turn away from the port.
The photo’s of this man – sort of on the cusp of middle age. Asian. Black jacket. Blue button up. He’s standing on the left third of the frame – the narrow brick and stone of the old town rising in these high lines all around him. There are people around, caught mid-step as they move up and down the cobble roads. The street is close – especially for someone that grew up in the tri-state. The wide shot feels intimate somehow.
The man’s holding a violin. His eyes are on the strings and nothing else. There’s a case on the ground. It’s zippered closed.
That’s sort of how I feel as a poet, some days. That music.
I wish that was all there was to it.