Song of the Microphone

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Song of the Microphone

I grew deaf from the claps and ovations,
I grew blind from starlets smiling bright,
Years I've catered to birds' imitators,
Suffered from symphonies day and night.

Like through a sieve, filtered through me
Into your souls flew a sound pure...
Stop! Here is he to whom my hopes drew me,
For whom all of my pain I endured.

So many years they whispered in me of moonbeams,
About silence merrily someone screamed,
Someone played on a saw --- sawed my neck inside ---
And I amplified, amplified, amplified!

He strains singing, he's gasping instead
Like a tired soldier before generals set,
And I stretch out my neck and head
Towards his face golden with sweat. 

Suddenly I cry, "Don't you know
What you sing? You tire --- stop, please!
This is sugar and treacle you flow!
Audience, will you tell him to cease!"

So many years they whispered in me of moonbeams,
About silence merrily someone screams,
Someone played on a saw --- sawed my neck inside ---
And I amplified, amplified, amplified!

Accuse me of what you desire
But against oneself one cannot try:
By profession I'm an amplifier
And I suffered, but amplified lies.

Then I moaned, and speakers squealed round,
And he choked my throat, pale in the face...
They unscrewed me then, they killed my sound,
Found another to put in my place.

The new one will endure all with patience,
He is screwed on my neck, fits the size.
We are always replaced by replacements,
So that we will not bother the lies.

...I, and the other mike, and the stand
Lay together once, tight in one case
And they, laughing, made me understand
How glad he'd been that I was replaced.

1971