I myself a bottom feeder, I knew what a chanson à la carp was—I a lover
of carp music—for I heard carp singing behind the glass on the Delaware River,
keeping the shad themselves company and always it was a basso, in that range there
was space for a song compleat, it was profundo enough and just to stop and drink in that
melody and just to hum behind those
whiskers, that was muck enough for one life.