Gerald Brennan—composer, pianist, singer
I find it easy to set Stephen Crane poems. The imagery is so clear they set themselves.
I have a feeling it’s more than just the little finger that’s setting this guy off the deep end, but when you’re in love just about anything about the beloved will suffice.
Ah, God, the way your little finger moved,
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb, a silly gilt comb —
Ah, God—that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved.