The resurrection has been done to death
A stone rolled clear of every rock–cut tomb
Each uncurled lily petal spread like fresh
White springtime snow & yet that I presume
On this or any other day to step
Beyond the threshold of my one–bedroom
Apartment without trembling suggests
An insufficient apprehension of
The stakes involved in such a passionate
Self–sacrificing unrelenting love
poem
after Antonin Dvořák
& William Carlos Williams
I.
The composition cries
for recognition as
sonatas do: the brash
familiarity
of this short coda is
exuberance in face
of all development
made noise: it’s true of course
that reacquaintance with
old friends will be enough
to wring G major chords
from nearly anyone
4 April 2023
II.
If it’s a thunderstorm
I hear approaching it’s
melodious as storms go
not unaware of its
transcription not inclined
to violence or else
magnanimous: these sheets
of falling notes are blown
about for you and no
one else it says but calls
of trumpets summon me
now I must go elsewhere
2 April 2023
III.
The shortest movement and
the most like looking through
a windowpane: for in
their workday clothes it does
seem awfully like two themes
were interrupted from
idyllic lives and told
despite the failure of
their crops by fire flood
what have you even still
that they should dance which they
were doing anyway
3 April 2023
IV.
How many ways exist
for one composer born
to natural love of his
old homeland and the lilt
of its particular
and rhythmic idiom
to give his heartfelt thanks
to the Bohemian
Academy for the
Encouragement of Arts
and Literature on his
election to their ranks
Eagles sweep agross the white
cirrus–shaded afternoon
one by one alighting on
riverfloes beneath the arced
bridges of the avenues
keening in their descent
for GW
Who dealt this? And you’re sure you shuffled? Well
there’s always hope — until you cut and draw
the very worst of all cards possible.
I guess I’ll count to see if I still have
five cards, and thank my lucky stars for that.
Genius, invention, and leisure for me;
Mind–numbing, backbreaking labor for thee.
I’ve put in patent papers for a new
device that measures feeling in the hu–
–man heart. In fact you’re holding it right now.
Give it to someone, tell them to look down
and read it: You are beautiful. You look
good in those clothes. You’ve got great taste in books.
I think you’re nice and like to spend my time
with you. So. Did they straighten up and smile
a little, secretly, all to themselves?
By that one indication you can tell
they have a heart & soul & sense of humor.
Don’t worry if they didn’t, though: there’s error.
It’s more accurate than you would think,
but I am still working out some kinks…