He had magic in his hands br For, as he played, br He transported us to heights br Way above the stars. br br A slim man, almost gaunt, br Ascetically thin, br Mouth wide and mobile, br Nose aquiline, br Bright, piercing eyes br With dancing brows br In a long, sharp Gallic face br Below a bush of graying hair. br br His hands--- br Long, bony, knobbly-knuckled, br Huge, splayed thumbs, misshapen things, br Finger tips worn down, calloused br From constant pressure on the strings. br br On stage he would come br Smiling expectantly around, br Acknowledge us, sit down, br Adjust his cello. br Be still; a slight frown br Of concentration br Like a saint in meditation br Then start to play- br br -To play the Bach Suites. br Rich-textured pattern of notes unfolding br Austerely, yet hinting of abandon, br Harmony undulating, light with dark contrasting. br From Praeludium to Gigue through Sarabande br And other ancient, courtly dance; weaving br An elegant tapestry of gracious age gone by, br Freeing our machine-bound, constricted souls, br Transporting us way, way above the stars br With the magic in his hands.