First Fight. Then Fiddle.

 

Dmitri Belyukin

First Fight. Then Fiddle.

 First fight. Then fiddle. Ply the slipping string
With feathery sorcery; muzzle the note
With hurting love; the music that they wrote
Bewitch, bewilder. Qualify to sing
Threadwise. Devise no salt, no hempen thing
For the dear instrument to bear. Devote
The bow to silks and honey. Be remote
A while from malice and from murdering,
But first to arms, to armor. Carry hate
In front of you and harmony behind.
Be deaf to music and to beauty blind.
Win war. Rise bloody, maybe not too late
For having first to civilize a space
Wherein to play your violin with grace.

 

Gwendolyn  Brooks 

 

I like how she says "fight first", and sets off about music as if she just can't resist. All things sweet and lovely - work at them with all possible skill and subtlety. She gets caught up in the thought and has to tear herself away -  

 "But first to arms." 

 There's something about this poem at this moment in time. I've carried it with me since I was a teen, and felt that dichotomy of  - needing to do what's necessary before doing what's pleasurable and preferred, but it's now that it really hits home.

Something in these circumstances tells me, 'Deal with the important things now, be alert, gather your strength, put up your guard.'

I have lived in a peaceful country til now, I've been able to experience the unbelievable blessing of expecting to be safe. I think those days are gone. The weather has changed, there's a feeling in the air - something's on the wind, there's a sound of voices from far-off places.

 What does it mean?