Friday, 12 February 2010

Bartók poem

Concerto for Orchestra: Bartók (for the Maestro who can)

All that is richest is here;
Great ghost clouds floating in the dazzling sky,
Memories of spring in the swan-courting valley.
All riches; all danger and all tears, seasons
Of grace, of mockery, of delight;
The breaking mirror above, the unbroken
Dance, and the first love of your life.

Spring-loaded, slender as a boy
You bound ahead of these gathered souls.
Their energy catches and flames
Beneath your outstretched hand.
Off from a glancing touch on air
The wildfire sings in leaping flight,
And all that is richest is there.

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