Wednesday, October 11, 2006

The Promenanders

As the music rises and falls
In an atmosphere that calls,
Even the least ardent of souls,
Out of the everyday roles
That it has been deigned for them to play.
As they sit aroud they can be heard to say
The most beautiful thoughts and speeches,
The kind of talk that reaches
The heart of every man.
It is if their plan
Is to reach that schism
Of happiness, of delight - hedinism.

Unfortunatley this state of rapture,
Is gone at the finale. One can't recapture
Even a moment later.
As if the heart is left a crater,
A gap, a longing to be fulfilled;
The feelings of the world to be stilled.
The souls cry out just for peace
The music it seems is just a lease
As other things try
To reach that unknown high
That will again leave in time.
This scurvy needs a cure - it needs some lime!

27th July 1991 - The Royal Albert Hall, London, England.

This poem was written during a performance of Rimsky-Korsakov's Scherazade during the 1991 Prom Season.


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