Music’s Sacred Trust

I held distrust for a time
For Ashbery’s drifting mind—
Such jumbled flights—did never
Rest upon a Common ground.

Like Beethoven’s sweeping hand,
I craved the solid note—
Not frippery of words or games,
No mere gestures to float.

He showed his music in his eyes,
And struck the mortal keys,
With strength that stirred the firmament—
Unlike Ashbery’s tease.

But time, oh fleeting time does change—
Or was it I—who heard?
The cadence of a deeper strain,
Beneath the wandering word.

Like Beethoven’s thunderous joy,
The meaning now reveals,
Though hidden in the folds of wit,
It presses, true, and seals.

I walk the line with wary step,
Seeking substance in the air,
As Ashbery’s nouns and verbs do rise—
A cautious symphony, so fair.

Yet still I sit at Ludwig’s side,
In reverence and in trust—
For he, in every stroke, commands
The music’s sacred thrust.

:: 10.01.2024 ::