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.

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