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| Comments: May your dance be filled with joy and happiness. |
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Symphonies
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What wondrous music
The black-clad orchestra creates.
The trills and crescendos
The flutes and violins
Brass and woodwinds
Blend into harmonic compositions
That warms the one within.
Yet, whether Bach, Beethoven, or Brahms,
All pale to the masterpieces of The Maestro.
The infinitely varied symphonies offered freely
No matter what hour or day.
Who is not moved by the rhythms of the seashore?
The crashing waves against the rocks
Tempered by the synchronous flow across the sand –
The gulls and sea lions offering their solos.
The Wind and the Seasons
Masterfully directing the ever-changing tempos.
Or, who has not heard the summer concert
During an early evening walk in the fields?
The crickets chirping
Dotted with the occasional interlude
Of songbirds, soon to retire.
The accompanying wind blows through the trees
Creating a soothing lullaby.
Never-ending, the music plays,
Enwrapping all who are willing to listen
To the Symphonic Orchestra of Life.
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| Comments: When I go to a concert, the music overwhelms me with its beauty. But when I walk the seashore or the not so quiet field in the evening, my ears hear a different concert that takes me to deeper, inner places. |
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Music is the divine way to tell beautiful poetic things to the heart. – Pablo Casals
The pavilion stands empty amid the rolling lawns and surrounding forest.
The paved paths – all lead to the knoll and seats below.
Soon a few and then hundreds arrive
.....coming in all shapes and sizes – from young to old
..... to hear glorious music in this Shangri-la
..... hidden between the Metropolis on the Lake and the City of Rubber.
The grass is soon covered with blankets, chairs, picnic baskets,
..... singles, couples and families.
The hillside resembles a patchwork quilt of humanity.
Soon, quiet stills the murmur of the crowd
..... as Bill Conti of Hollywood fame crosses the stage.
The world-class musicians, with bows and instruments at attention,
..... focus their eyes upon the conductor.
The crowd bursts into applause
..... announcing the formal start to the evening.
Even the birds in the rafters chirp in gleeful welcome.
The once lifeless notes on the pages are soon converted
..... into emotion and passion that bares the soul of the composer.
The melodies begin to permeate the inner sanctums.
Some sway – others close their eyes.
Each move to the moment – cares drifting away.
Images flood the mind as movie score after score comes to life.
Water again splashes Jennifer as Conti resurrects Flashdance.
The Right Stuff conjures images of jettisoned rockets and human drama.
Later, Rocky and his nemesis once more exchange blows.
Eternally young Peter Pan beckons from above during the Disney medley.
As quickly as the magic came, it ends.
The sun has set and the pavilion is now dark.
There are signs here and there of the masses
..... that once sat on the rolling lawn.
Yet, on the long walk to the car
..... Jennifer still dances;
..... Peter Pan still asks me to believe;
..... and Rocky still jabs;
..... for the music still plays within.
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Comments: Last weekend our friends the Halens invited us to attend a concert conducted by Bill Conti and performed by the Cleveland Symphony at Blossom Music Center. [Blossom is located just north of Akron (formally known as the Rubber City).] At first I wasn't going due to the many tasks I had to complete. Finally, somewhat kicking and screaming, I caved in to my spouse's pressure. Even today, I thank her for insisting and the Halens for offering. As you read in the poem, the summer evening was perfect. My spirits were lifted, and my cares faded. I returned home with a skip to the step and a heart much lighter. In fact, I am going to take a brief break now to listen as the music is still playing.
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Gershwin Blossoms Again
Having enjoyed recent epicurean delights,
......a taste of chocolate and strawberry
......remains on the palette.
We’re not alone,
......spread across the lawn, yard upon yard
......of blankets and makeshift tables
......with families and couples
......savoring their gourmet picnics.
Many raise glasses of fine libation
......in celebratory toasts.
Dissonant music rises above the festive atmosphere,
......announcing the approaching concert.
An electric air of anticipation
......sweeps through the crowd.
Almost silence pervades.
The chords burst forth; the concert begins.
The music transcends decades
......while the sky transforms
......from rose colored to darkness.
Gershwin is alive again.
Have you ever heard a trombone sing?
During Oh Lady, Be Good,
......Witser’s1 slides and glides
......create a baritone solo,
......purer than any human voice.
Later, enfolded in sensual, melodious arms,
......I lie on the grass,
......peering heavenward.
A lone star glows brighter than the others.
“Was someone else on a distant planet,
......encircling that superheated mass of energy,
......also enwrapped in musical ecstasy?”
I smile.
1 Steven Witser was the soloist trombonist at the concert.
Comments: Friends David and Carole invited us to joined them for an evening concert at Blossom Music Center near Akron. Their season tickets are for the lawn seat section. Being experienced Blossom concert goers, they had the tarp, blankets, stakes, candles, wine glass holders, and picnic basket filled with delectable taste treats ready for an evening of feasting, friendship, and superb music. I brought one of my collector bottles of wine to enhance the ambiance. What is wonderful about Blossom is not only the music but the experience, people enjoying one another. For several hours, you can forget the ugliness and tragedy that exists and escape into another world. Business matters and the hustle and bustle take a several hour holiday. Some sanity and perspective returns to life.
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| Early arrivals |
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| Special libation |
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| Some working, others resting |
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| Enjoying life |
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The Recital
Bespectacled, young, “dressed to the nines,”
...the young man strolls onto the stage,
...the one all had come to hear.
...Adam Falter is his name.
A slight smile crosses his lips.
The night has arrived–
...a four-year journey to now.
Thoughts flood his mind.
...“Will I play well?”
...“Will my family be proud?”
...“Oh, God, let me make no mistakes.”
Countless practice hours
...spent in private, with cohorts,
...before professors and colleagues,
...all leading to this moment,
...all leading toward his dream.
At first tentative and then with resolve,
...the oboe is raised to his lips.
The music explodes into the hall
...as the magic consumes him
...and enchants his audience.
Minutes fly by as crescendos rise and then fall.
Works of the masters come alive.
The oboist, like the charmer,
...holds their rapt attention.
Mother and Father hang onto every note.
...“Can this be the baby we once held in our arms?”
They smile, proud beyond mere words.
As quickly as the concert began, it ends.
Adam, no longer tentative,
...bows to the jubilant crowd,
...accepting the applause.
He smiles,
...one step closer to his dream.
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| The virtuoso, Adam Falter |
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| Comments: Adam's parents commissioned me to write this poem for their son who was graduating from Capital University in Bexley (Columbus), Ohio. I traveled to the recital to witness, write, and enjoy. Being graduation time in the States, I thought you might enjoy reading about Adam's culminating college event. He will be attending graduate school in the fall following which he plans to become a member of one of the larger symphonies. |
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