Poem: ‘Not’
Frank Kuppner, 12 May 1994
1.
My mother sits in a chair, beside the tape-deck which is at present playing Kathleen Ferrier singing something by Gluck. By far the most usual something, I suppose. Orpheus’s lament for Eurydice, now dead and beneath the ground. And where is the singer? Where is she even though her voice is among us? And doubtless without the hope which Eurydice had. For Eurydice will return, which...