Debussy
The pianist takes hold of the music,
He has to with Debussy
Glued to the piano
The pianist is one with it
Knitting tinkling notes
In the enclosed atmosphere
Showering us,
Overpowering us
Smoothly harping
On the intense
Slightly discordant accords
Marche funebre-Chopin
The funeral tempo is too light
For my mind ritualistic mood
Too close one can't breathe
Too rich in memories
Weighting it
Youth where have you gone?
Stultifying atmosphere
Filled with so many details
Discursively Tangential
So Proustian in its rhythm
Looping ensnaring
Taking you away and back
To the same starting place
Death, the beginning and the end
Static, immobile while moving
Constrained into pump and circumstance
Prisoner in the present
Afraid of the finale.
Brahms
The stage Red and purple curtains
Set an intimate mood
Of the Viennese life
Soft lighting coffeehouse,
Full of music, puppet shows,
Burlesque tragically
Walzing away life worries
In the cold snowy night
Leading to the frozen Danube
Like destiny knocking at one's door
Tonight won't be the night
Everything stop
Back to work with frenzied activity
Sustained until glorious success
Is followed by emptiness.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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