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Two Poems on Musical Themes


Salieri Speaks

His genius brought me to the brink of a fearful inadequacy.
What does one do when you reach a mountain top
only to find yourself on a foothill?
I thought posterity would acknowledge
the skill of those who rose to the high office
of an exemplary avocation,
but a scrupulous deity laid other plans.

It was a time of aristocratic music,
of genteel airs, gallantly offered melodies
grandly received by a most courtly society.
My monarch, who’s noble largesse
nourished the arts;
a sovereign who loved elegant music
and I his servant, a most esteemed court composer,
a musician admired by all those with refined tastes.

Then that upstart prodigy, that giggling fool arrived
bursting with unheard of musical ideas,
his quill overflowing with a quality of brilliance
only I could tell was far above all else.

I loved him immediately - then wept,
you see I had to keep composing,
to safeguard my standing in the most cultivated circles,
make use of his growing fame while harboring
a secretive admiration, my subtle imitations,
my own homage to him really, a disguised tribute.

I cursed the day he died leaving me with no new notes
to adapt and emulate,
just this ebbing silence of an older age dwindling
into the roar of a newer epoch.
Already another rude plebian waits in the wings
anxious to shake the world.

I was a professional, a dedicated artist,
but time disqualifies the good as it magnifies the new.
Even then I knew I would be scorned,
not by the common man, but by common men
that were most uncommon.


~~~~~~

Beethoven’s Last Walk

The day was cold, snow had fallen. He put on his great coat
and strode out into the late afternoon.

We kept an eye on him from a distance.
Some reported him thrashing the undergrowth growling
as if forcing his way through some musical conundrum,
others saw him pause,
turning around as he gazed heavenward
his large head seeming to listen to sounds only he could hear.

A lark sang; he noticed its hovering silhouette;
muttering he stomped onward.

That evening he lay down and would not speak.
The sky darkened and began to thunder,
strange for that time of year.
I thought of the words of Jesus,
"Lord why hast thou forsaken me?"
It seemed appropriate.

His brow furrowed as his fingers tapped
some theme upon the bed sheets.
Then as if seeing the coda of his life crashing like a wave
onto a far shore
he raised his fist. Lightning shook the house,
and when we looked again
he was gone.

~~~~
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