The Symphony of Me

Chicago_Symphony_Orchestra_2005

It begins allegro vivace ending in a lonely oboe solo.
The stage is strewn with Marguerites.
The opening movement begins in sets of call-responses in G major.
In sonata form, it advances to a minor key played by strings,
rising to a frantic crescendo then culminating by the repeat of that plaintive oboe.

The second movement continues in lilting 6/8 waltz time,
a melody having a lazy dreaminess shifting in and out of keys in major and minor;
midway through, the tempo changes to a set of quick mood swings.
The latter part takes up themes from the first movement once again changing keys.
Built with clarity and steady rhythms the closing melody shines sublime.

The third section sings in andante cantabile, a fugato of four voices:
a constant swirling and weaving of themes, each voice expressing different things.
Each playing in counterpoint to the others but the whole accelerating to a Viennese.
The figures circle then return to andante, each song highlighted in razor
sharp relief before being united one last time as the woodwinds and brass rejoices.

The last section, a haunting largo piece, hearkens nature’s sounds.
Beginning with bassoons then clarinets to mimic mockingbirds and parakeets;
the melody returns to the initial plaintive tune as each motif is like a treasure.
The rise and falls are like sun and moon, the turns, rotations; the starts and endings–
lullabies dissolve into strains that arc to triple forte, a conclusion of leaps and bounds.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 9.11.2014 * All Rights Reserved
Posted for d’Verse Poets hosted today by Karin Gustafson. The prompt is an extended metaphor.

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SHE BANGS

“She moves,…she’s got one thing on her mind”

steel strong and sign determined
stealthing through revenge alleys
stinging streets on stiletto heels
spied secrets drawn from shades

“she’ll wear you out like a pair of shoes”

bringing heat that’s streamlined
slipped beneath her trench
shadows straight and to the right
she has her aim, and sets her sights

“she looks like a flower but she stings like a bee”

no dread or anger resides
in her, instead a killer chill
blown to ice – she will fight
she lays, all for all, on the line

“She bangs, she bangs, she’s got one thing on her mind”

target ahead under a light
promises broken, jagged crazy
moving with a piercing gaze
she stays clear as she resigns

 

(with apologies to Ricky Martin with lyrics from “She Bangs”)

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2012 * All Rights Reserved

Luminous Cows

The Cow With Parasol by Marc Chagall

You could see cows then in Montmartre
when lights called the world to Paris.
Young hearts came, consumed with their art,
their sight defined Her as heiress.

When lights called the world to Paris,
they found their ideas in cafés;
their sight defined Her as heiress
through canvas, brush, paints and wordplay.

They found their ideas in cafés
in Her energy and freedom.
Through canvas, brush, paints and wordplay
inspiring artistic outcome.

In Her energy and freedom
musicians and artists said they
created inventive outcome
whether written, sculpted or played.

Musicians and artists said they
must make the unseen become known,
whether written, sculpted or played
by weaving their souls in art’s bones.

Must make the unseen become known,
must live and die imbued by art.
By weaving their souls in art’s bones,
they transformed the cows of Montmartre.

Picasso to Chagall, Apollinaire to Hemingway they put the cow and the bull in their art; and Gertrude Stein made “cow” a whole new symbol!

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 1/2012 * All Rights Reserved

Kreisler – Liebeslied

DancingKitchen

The notes float like wood shavings
settling on cuckoos,
and a plank table carved out with hearts,
the bow flies across the strings
weaving strands
sugared icing on apple strudel
the kitchen warms around us

through the window the
world mounds in
whiteness,
bright as a young girl’s eyes
soft as ermine muff against a white velvet cape

drapes our stage with a snowy symphony
that backdrop to our winter waltz
where our grandchildren watch, wonder
giggle with embarrassment

we laugh as we lilt over
worn trails that have
seen our dances through these
many years

now the fiddler plays clearer
with each passing year
jonquils await under the snow
there lie landmarks of our
love and labor too

a garden sleeps until
spring pulls it to color
but for now we keep the hearts and flowers
bright and warm
with kisses in our eyes and
honey flowing through our hearts
What waltzes sweeter?

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 12.24.12 *