Elliott Carter — Across the Yard: La Ignota

The soprano's bosom breathes the joy of God Brunnhilde who could not rule her voice for God - Her stately yellow ivory window frames Haven't seen paint or putty these twenty years; Grass, dead since Kennedy, chokes the window box She has to sing to keep her curtains flying; One is pink dust flipped back to scarlet lining The other besmirched gauze; and behind them A blown electric heater, her footlocker with Munich Stickers stood upright for a music stand Her doorbell is dead. No one has to hire her She flings her high aria to the trash like roses.... When I was lost and green, I would have given The janitor three months' rent for this address