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Planting trees out of the grief In Memoriam Robert Creeley

There, they were sitting in a semicircle facing their conductor giving them the language to speak on their instruments: flute, clarinet, viola, cello, piano. One microphone standing on each side. The center was empty-space for a coffin. So the musicians were playing, facing the empty space and I saw them rotating towards the microphones reciting Bresnicks' "My Twentieth Century." Their voices appeared rotationally in the background of the air; near and far at the same time. And as close as anything else was the repetition: "My brother died in the twentieth century."