The Symphony: An Appreciation (A Poem in Four Movements) by Kelp

First Movement (Allegro) – The Wonder of the Composer

The Great Conductor waved his baton
And you were born on cue,
To doting parents, the consummate son,
A biogenetic coup.

You survived your infancy.

You survived the prevailing ignorance
Of leeches and cold water
Wigs and whitepowder
Wars and disease
Typhus, Syphilis,Tuberculosis,
Yellow fever, scarlet fever
Diphtheria, dysentery,
Pleurisy.

Majestic, now
Majestic,
Like a treble clef,
A crown across the straightblack lines.
Blacknotes tied together and
Rests and sharps and
Intervals.

And your eyes of savoir youth
Absorbing and cognizing and
Tying all with all
That was,
Sharp within your pupils.

Hearing all that had been heard and
All that had never been heard;
Hearing what we longed to hear
Long before the longing stirred.

The hours and days and
Years of study
Of theory
Then
Of practice
The rhythms and
Pitches of
Joy and
Of sadness.
The exhilaration
And exhaustion of
Gnosis and
Of Praxis.

Obstacles and
Impediments and
Hesitations and
Distractions.
The whining and
Grinding of
The smaller self
And spiteful interactions
With critics and
Cynics and
Polishers and admonishers.
Jaundiced and
Jealous and
Solicitous connivers.

From a chalky
Milky tohu
A spark and then mitosis.
A gasp for breath
A breath
A breath
An echo of gasps,
But not from you.
Acceptance and apotheosis.

How could this have come to be?
Who can fathom how you did it?
How? These sounds and
Precise coordinates.
You have fallen into the place
Where everything is music.
Or were born there.
That place
Where everything is music.

Second Movement (Adagio) – Revelation of Musical Instruments

A man in a cave
by the light
of a fire
with a stick in
his hand.
Or a bone.
Yuval or
Jubal
with a stick
or a bone,
heavy.
Maybe a thighbone of a bear
with the marrow sucked out
Washed and dried and
washed and dried and
rubbed smooth.
Or a bird bone.
Bored
Hollow
With a stone
Or a stick
Or a shell.
A shawm.

Lifted to
His lips
To blow Into.

The
Shell
Of a
Tortoise
Strung
With
Hairs
Or
Intestines
From a
Sheep
Stretched and
Scraped and
Soaked and
Smoothed and
Pulled and
Twisted.
Into lines.

A log of
Spruce or
Later
Maple in the
Hands of
Stradavari.
One piece,
Carved
And smoothed.
The purfling tapped
Into place
With a small
Hammer, and
Varnish
Applied, and
Re-applied.
Bartolomeo
Cristoforo
Just downwind
From Stradaveri
Used those
Very
Raw
Materials:
Wood and
Strings and
Hammers and
Keys he made
Of black and
White.

Crafstmen
Rose
To meet
The needs of
The time.
The sixteen
Seventeen
Hundreds.
Clarinets and
Piccolos and
Cellos.
Dulcians
Became
Bassoons.
Germans
Made
The first
French
Horns.
In Ancient Egypt
Trumpets
Shrilled
To warn
Of war, and
Now
With keys and
Valves
Their
Vocal
Range and
Tone
Fulfilled.

Years and
years
Of trial and
Error,
Focused on
The manufacture
Of the perfect
Instrument.

Coddled and
Fondled and
Handled
With respect,
These stringed
Creations,
Perfectly
Pitched.
Gleaming
Horns
Of Brass and
Silver
Large and
small and
Clarinets and
Timpani and
Kettle drums
All
In Perfect
Pitch.
All
Magnificently
Constructed.

Magnificent

Instruments

Magnificent

Instruments

Magnificent

Mag

Ni

Fi

Cent.

Third Movement (Minuet) – Professional Musicians

Baton and bows and horns in hand,
Jitters and yips and butterflies.
Hearts and lungs contract and expand,
Waiting for the moment to materialize.
And now all eyes on the raised baton
As the yawn of the point is stretched and drawn.

They call it playing, but work is required
And persistence, focus, dedication
Whether talent is in-born or acquired
It must still survive the abdication
From the existential bane:
The choice of pleasure over pain.

As a child you must have felt the thrills,
Or something someone recognized
As you performed your daily drills:
Forming sounds that mesmerized
Parent, teacher, mentor, coach.
Encouragement, sometimes reproach.

And it hung about you like a fragrance
As you learned the proper posture
And how to play with proper patience
And with that patience somehow endure
Concurrent boredom and delight,
Playing scales into the night.

And you studied with the master,
Learned his fingerings and technique
Learned to play as fast or faster,
Developed strengths where you were weak.
And memorized through repetition
And earned the title of musician.

The study of an instrument
Requires as well an intimacy
That is passionate yet innocent.
Each bump and crevice and subtlety
Your fingers have touched and gently caressed
Until its body you have possessed.

And now dressed up in formal black
You must put aside all errant thoughts
And concentrate and not think back
To moments that you had to cross.
To arguments with kids or spouse
Or renovations on the house.
Or the Christmas party you must attend
Or the recent divorce of your best friend.
But focus your experience
And share your gift with audience.

Fourth Movement (Rondo) – The Performance: Acceptance and Apotheosis

Each arriving with a ticket in hand.
An entry card to that place
Where everything is music.

The lyricism in the melody; the melodiousness of the lyric.
Sound is speech and speech is pure sound.
A tone a breath; a breath a tone.
This meter, this beat
The rhyme of the rhythm; the rhythm of the rhyme
This meter this beat
The sonnet in the sonata; the sonata in the sonnet
The voice, the voice, the tone the tone, the beat the beat

Crescendo!

We have fallen into the place where everything is music!
Where the parts are greater than the whole!
Where the whole is greater than the parts!
Where hours of study and practice are compounded!
Where the many are one, and the one are many!
Melody and harmony!

And we are part of it as well
In our seats with our ears attuned,
Eyes open or eyes closed, listening,
And like the ancient priestly ritual
A sacrifice is made on the platform, on the stage
The blood is captured in a bowl.
And sprinkled onto us as we accept
The covenant of the music,
The confluence of all the players:
Composer, instruments, musicians, audience.
And now we clap our hands together
Clapping and standing on our feet
As the bows are taken and taken again
We echo the crescendo with applause.
A crescendo of magnificent applause

Magnificent

Applause

Magnificent

Applause

App

l a u s e !