Rachmaninoff could play but could he hold a note…

piano keys

-I-

bug wall fever – sweat gland push of passion – wind weather eddying curtains like rivers – a statue of your self dreaming – a vestibule child praying – a hall – a door – music and more notes than any lover might ever hear…

It was soft and quiet – a mild touch here and there – a little like…a little late – his glass overturned on a carpet and red – wet fluid questions issuing from his lips and a woman answering “I am ghost magic and fear kiss me…”

spired bedposts – drapes of velvet – blown horns of demi-gods – soft sounds again and then scraping – a tuner stretching strings until perfection – Rachmaninoff dead on a sofa, his mother calling from a hereafter, “rise Sergei and play…”

-II-

You at a keyboard playing to a world not quite awake to listen, and pouring glass after glass for them and toasting – “To you my imaginary friends, my intimate companions, sit, and I will feed you and wine you, and cry to, and for and because of you, and I will tremble mightily so that you will not have too; I will be your friend forever, and sew prayer clothes for your children, and this I will do for you just to be doing for you, and nothing more – or maybe in exchange for one small favor – I will die for you if you will die for me – isn’t that a small thing to give… your life for the immortality of a poem…?”

-III-

fine fingernails bitten – milk white walls graying – hesitations and a word or two about the mistaken – an all at once risk abandoned – explanations and meanings hiding in a closet – a public personification and rumors about tiny nothings…

hurting and breaking and pounding – mirth looking for dust laughing under a carpet – memory in a headache – dinner growing colder and then cold – my my and sigh sigh; will the world go round and can we live at least one more day…?

to mime or maim – rise or fall – talk all night or believe like believers – to sunrise win or nightfall fail at this or that and because and could be – Rachmaninoff is dead from frustration; a 12″ finger spread and still no one to hold…

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5 responses to “Rachmaninoff could play but could he hold a note…

  1. Rachmaninoff is one of my favorite composers…

    “The Isle of the Dead” Symphonic Poem, Opus 29!

    Sends shivers down my spine…

  2. By the way, 1 poet 4 man, might you send me an email so that I might add you to the contributors on Poets For Peace? (prime63@cox.net)…Can’t find an email for you here…

  3. Poetman, this interpretation of Rachmaninoff’s life span gives us a window not only into your perceptions of his life, but also a lyrical voyage accompanied by the soul of his music. Wonderful and wonderous…

  4. oh the last line gave me a lump in my throat……I will have to read this again and again to get a handle on it, but it is very good, very moving, the fragments little snatches of music.

  5. the poetryman – I will tell you a secret I wrote this piece while listening to Lizt…it just worked out that way…Thanks for stopping by…

    Bob – Thank you for your comment…This one is a bit different than some of mine…I like it and I am glad that you liked it too…Rachmaninoff is to me at least, the soul of Russian soil and a witness to it’s frozen madness…and if there is a musician out there who has not at least listened to him than the the chords they play are of an entirely different kind of emptiness…

    jo – thank you and that lump is telling of your deep sensitivity…

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