After Aljosa Jurinic’s Performance of Chopin’s Etude Op.25 #11 (Winter Storm)
The pianist seizes time with his fingers—
Thunder, lightning
a deluge of gibberish
on roller-coaster
pounding waves on pounding hearts.
Bounded in their seats with all the doors closed
the audience is trapped in the elegant hall.
Merciless hammers. Screaming strings.
Rapid bullets shoot out
from the hollow of the great black box
The ghosts of men rise up
bracing the assault with their chests
power – anger – rage
ring in their ears, boiling the blood.
Bark! Mad dogs, bark
because mad dogs recognize the call
when they hear one
and soon the hall is filled
with the most primitive agreement:
kill or be killed.
If Chopin was not consumptive
he too would have wrung the cravens by the neck
and walked off the stage with a flip of his hair.
*
Photo credit: Fryderyk Chopin Institute
