poetry The Fiddlehead

EROICA (as performed by Glenn Gould)

Sounds like it was recorded 
  in a garage, piano
chords bounding and disappearing
  in a vast chamber, the roof
lifted, his figure coiled, low-
  boned, nocturnal. Through spaces
the original intention forms
  and is painful, erudite,
collapsing; he would walk around
  his instrument, measuring 
a distance of centuries,
  matching a brilliance he would keep
to himself until clarity
  would compel him to begin.

Master or servant, listening to
  a voice which would confuse such 
distinctions, needing those rests
  which swell into deafness, then 
pounding back with something like fear.
  What risks you will take when you
retire, your knuckles stilled against
  a perfect machine, supple,
aloof, dignified. Accolades 
  are always shared: yours defend
the paradox of music
  and silence, the score of a grave
like a muse you must master.

[The Fiddlehead No. 187, Spring 1996]

By Randy Kay

Experienced not-for-profit communications and citizen engagement professional

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s