“He is offering Hasse’s aria—pale suns in the misty heavens, the tremblings, the hearts. But the stylus slips on the low notes and fricatives until only something like emblem remains, a pale, une’en art etching the cylinder’s tranquil curl. And so he is asked to compromise: the lowered tongue, the softened voice, a forfeiture for permanence. But compromise has brought him here. And softening. And permanence has poured its liquid bronze into the gap the temporary held so steadfastly. He steps aw...ay, steps back. What on earth to do? Encircle loss, finite and full-throated, as the stylus drops his highs and lows, his suns and heavens, his seamless climbs from heart to mist?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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