The Art of (the) Cello

The Art of (the) Cello

In Ramón C. Sunico’s poem, Cello, the dramatic situation presents the readers with a cello player and his instrument. The first three stanzas of the poem concern themselves with the description of the cello player: the reverence with which he simply handles and carries the cello, and his stance when he actually plays the instrument. The next three stanzas describe first the “relationship” of the player with his cello, and then gives us a description of the cello itself. The last stanza is as much about the player as it is about the instrument in how it paints a picture of the cello being played. Throughout the poem, we, the readers, see only from the point of view of the speaker, a persona removed—that is to say, separate—from the dramatic situation itself. One gets the idea that this must not be the first time the speaker has encountered the player and his instrument, or otherwise had been observing them both for a considerable amount of time.

From both the speaker and the player, we get a sense of reverence and admiration; the speaker in describing—personifying, even—the cello, and the player in the way he treats his instrument. “You would not think /the way he carries it in / that he carries a thing”: from the first stanza, we are made aware of the importance of the instrument, removing from it the first simple description of “thing”. This sets up the readers for the later descriptions and personifications of the cello. In fact, this idea is immediately reinforced by the second stanza (“the way he favours / his left hand (which touches / its strings) as if it were a wing / that touched God;”), where the cello is elevated to something godly. The left hand which held it, held something as majestic, powerful as God; it was a wing that allowed the player to take flight, to transcend his humanity by communing with a god.

The musician, in a more obvious manner, affirms the importance of the cello in the way “his knees cling to its sides / as if it were love.” Cello players, when they play the instrument, are actually not meant to squeeze it between their knees, but to just rest it upon them to steady it. Yet we see this particular cello player clinging to his instrument, implying a sense of necessity, that the cello—or also, music or art itself—is in a way vital to the player’s life as much as love is to any man. Love is that which gives meaning to life, to the mundane actions we all do everyday; to the musician, his cello and the music he—and it—creates must hold just as much meaning to him.

The cello is twice described as the player’s “cross”, presenting a stark contrast to the earlier picture of the cello as majestic and precious. Here, we see the persona speak of the cello as a burden, meant to be endured. The cello can once again be taken as a metaphor for art, itself and the process of creating it. Art, while it gives meaning and purpose to many an artist, can also be a source of misery. Being involved in art can be frustrating; there are techniques and skills the artist must practise over and over to hone his craft, and there are the emotional travails an artist must go through to feel, and to translate feeling into colour, sound, or movement. As glorious as art is, it is not faultless.