From open hand extending –
from quiet music rising –
from patterned steps entrancing,
from one dancer emerging –
from shapes attention flowing –
To draw in the floating corps
of miracled ballerinas
as swans or roses perfect
and precise: lost on the edge
of human possibility, each
balanced between woman
and flower – precariously
safe in beauty; patterned numbers.
And in music, which fades now too
as this dancing, moving, tender
world; like a shoal of fishes,
turns with the tide to a brilliant sea.
We went to see the opening night of the Nutcracker, performed by Birmingham Royal Ballet, last night. It was a wonderful classic ballet. It’s fifteen years since I last saw a ballet, but they seem to get easier to appreciate the older I get.