Banging on holidays like a piano tuner this tone, tone, tone, then the octave, then the triad, then another note—we work around the calendar of keys, muscling swollen pegs and frayed wires into tune. We forget how all this internal weather, this spitting turbulence, warps the fine grain of wood, how wood is a living material, breathing and absorbing even after it’s cut and fashioned into a living room shape. If we chopped it up and lit a fire, we’d hear water hiss and wail as it heats and escapes each cellulose room each ring another year of growing in concentric direction all of it finally released. That would be music.
How does the poem use repetition of sounds to create tone and rhythm? Do these devices make parts of the poem more memorable? Explain.