TVEITT IN ABSENTIA.
Tveitt finds himself in the lives of strangers--descending
an unsteady ladder of fish bones into the midst of a dinner party;
walking the streets of an unknown town with fiddle strings
firmly binding his ankles. Someone throws a pickle at his head.
He wakes when he wakes with muscles aching and bruises
coloring him head to foot. His music is abducted, the felt of his
hammers wrung like sponges. He wants to hide, he tries
to hide, but is always uncovered. They lecture him on his intended
meaning, elucidate his intent. Staff lines are wielded against
him in the war of sound versus sense. He is pulled into a parade,
patted on the back by bosom friends he can't tell from Adam.
In the private rooms of dowagers he is made to recite stale verses
from Dante and Ole Bull, to approve the bust chiseled of him
and declare art an appointment plucked from a shoe store window.
All he can do is wait for the sisters to appear among them--
to set his broken bones with fluttering hands, to calmly assure him
that he is not after all alone, nor is he the decoction of minds
bent to the business of self-deceit, or futures ground from old salt.