It was said
that he had overlarge hands,
laborer's hands,
yet when he played
eagles swam up waterfalls.
No one knew where the music came from
or the dexterity of those thick fingers.
Slavic ghosts would weave and spin all night
getting those finger-webs ready to spread
far across a difficult score.
Rachmaninov had a strong piano,
unlike Beethoven,
who occasionally broke
his less stout keyboards.
Beethoven's indominable will
cut through acceptable norms
with a buzz saw and a bulldozer.
That Russian with his
deep-set chords
rained down upon us
both sweetness and sorrow,
the way a dark cloud
in a desert often brings life.
Melodies to break or mend,
and to be thread through
any listening ear.
We all hear Rachmaninov and Chopin
Plus Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven, and Schumann
But it’s unfair, I say
That no one will play
That great composer who’s just known as Stan
emotions
rise
and
fall
feelings
falter
pause
stop,
then
start:
begin
again
on
a
merry-
go-round
around..
around..
and..
around
inspired by Rachmaninov Prelude clip
My Secret Place
When the world is too much with me
And I long to fly away
I lay back in contentment
And listen to music play
Rachmaninov is my God
Puccini makes me cry
The symphony is my home
For the Opera I would die
Whenever terror strikes me
And I think I'll lose my mind
I put my feet up on the chaise
And leave my cares behind
I don't need mental help
Or even Dr. Phil
I just listen to the violins
I have no need for pills
This is my private place
Far away from strife
Music is a gift from God
I will treasure all my life
Copyright©2005Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
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