The Composer, the Critic and a Saint

Johannes Brahms in his mind

at two pianos

playing variations

on a theme by Joseph Haydn

on a path in the forest

with Saint Anthony sneaking

about someplace.

Saint Anthony whispers to Brahms:

Being a composer is not as complicated

as being

gODD,

who makes a tree and

then says, “i'LL have another,

only different,”

in a variation that only hE understands.

gODD hopes the second tree

will swing along with the original,

so, hE knows the trees

have to practice daily

in order to know

how their branches

will sway in the breezes together

to end on the same note;

the same beat.

Imagine the entire forest

as each tree grows and sways,

as each tree pulls water from the soil

to push out leaves:

an orchestra of trees

under one cOMPOSER

who also conducts

this green orchestra.

And then fire:

the critic in the first row,

wiping all the notes from the page:

dissing the cOMPOSER.

“yOU had a chance to make it rain.”

says the critic.

which is why gODD

refuses to read reviews

about the trees hE makes

“Stupid critic,”

grumbles gODD.

“I was in a mood to try

some dry humor

and you could not feel

mY creation:

absurd and funny.”

so the critic walks from the theater

with ashes on his coat

and fire for his words

printed in the daily

to admonish gODD

for destruction of a forest

Brahms

with just two pianos

balanced between his ears

fully understood

the relationships

between fire and forest,

between critic and creator,

and

between ashes and empathy,

as he walked through the trees

hands clasped

behind his back

listening to the Saint

rustle the leaves

ever so gently.

Copyright 2012 by Barry G. Wick All rights reserved
Follow this link to the audio version of this poem read by the author.



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