Beethoven Plays for Mozart
Posted: 17 Nov 2020, 22:16
v2:
Beethoven Plays for Mozart
I was busy,
in the middle of packing,
our no longer affordable rent due.
Wolferl was feverishly working
on Don Giovanni,
its score strewn about the floor.
“What now?” he asked, exasperated
at Gaukerl’s barking.
An intruder walked through the door—
a sixteen year old boy
with a pock marked face
and bushy eyebrows.
He handed my husband a paper.
Wolferl was always
being hounded with introductions from “Count
or Prince or Something da-da-da-DA”.
I winced at my husband’s
unusual rudeness—
but he was overworked
and deadlines due—
as he flung a disgusted hand
towards the fortepiano,
having no time for “this”.
Finishing, the boy glanced at me,
then stared at Wolferl,
his cleft chin held high,
expecting approval.
I nodded. But my nod
was like small change
dropped in a beggar’s palm.
Finally Wolferl broke his silence:
he had no time
to take on new students...
But as he walked the young man out,
he patted him on the back…I heard him whisper
"the future is yours."
"Who was that?"
one of our guests asked, lured
from the next room by the music.
Just then our other guests, thinking
Wolfer was playing
because he missed their company,
wobbled back into the room--
spilling their wine on the floor and piano,
their loud, hoarse voices
soon raised in a drinking song
the wild young man who had left
quickly forgotten.
v1:
Beethoven Plays for Mozart
Guests having shown up
under the disguise
of helping me pack
to move to a cheaper lodging
were raising toasts
and fiddling with their violins
or trying to pull
our pretty housekeeper
into an improvised duet.
Winking at me
Constanze herded them
into an adjoining room.
Sheets of Don Giovanni
lay strewn about the floor.
I was picking up the score,
bent over--
my arse
a cannon of farts
when a sixteen year old boy
with a pock marked face
and bushy eyebrows
strode in,
handed me a piece of paper,
an introduction from Count
or Prince or Something da-da-da-DA
and I flung a disgusted hand
towards the fortepiano,
having no time for this.
Finishing he looked at me,
his cleft chin held high...
but I had no time to take on new students...
I walked the young man out
patting him on the back...whispering
"the future is yours."
"Who was that?"
Constanze asked, lured
from the next room by the music.
Just then my guests, thinking
I was playing
because I missed their company,
wobbled back into the room--
spilling their wine on the floor and piano,
their loud, hoarse voices
soon raised in a drinking song
the wild young man who had left
quickly forgotten.
Beethoven Plays for Mozart
I was busy,
in the middle of packing,
our no longer affordable rent due.
Wolferl was feverishly working
on Don Giovanni,
its score strewn about the floor.
“What now?” he asked, exasperated
at Gaukerl’s barking.
An intruder walked through the door—
a sixteen year old boy
with a pock marked face
and bushy eyebrows.
He handed my husband a paper.
Wolferl was always
being hounded with introductions from “Count
or Prince or Something da-da-da-DA”.
I winced at my husband’s
unusual rudeness—
but he was overworked
and deadlines due—
as he flung a disgusted hand
towards the fortepiano,
having no time for “this”.
Finishing, the boy glanced at me,
then stared at Wolferl,
his cleft chin held high,
expecting approval.
I nodded. But my nod
was like small change
dropped in a beggar’s palm.
Finally Wolferl broke his silence:
he had no time
to take on new students...
But as he walked the young man out,
he patted him on the back…I heard him whisper
"the future is yours."
"Who was that?"
one of our guests asked, lured
from the next room by the music.
Just then our other guests, thinking
Wolfer was playing
because he missed their company,
wobbled back into the room--
spilling their wine on the floor and piano,
their loud, hoarse voices
soon raised in a drinking song
the wild young man who had left
quickly forgotten.
v1:
Beethoven Plays for Mozart
Guests having shown up
under the disguise
of helping me pack
to move to a cheaper lodging
were raising toasts
and fiddling with their violins
or trying to pull
our pretty housekeeper
into an improvised duet.
Winking at me
Constanze herded them
into an adjoining room.
Sheets of Don Giovanni
lay strewn about the floor.
I was picking up the score,
bent over--
my arse
a cannon of farts
when a sixteen year old boy
with a pock marked face
and bushy eyebrows
strode in,
handed me a piece of paper,
an introduction from Count
or Prince or Something da-da-da-DA
and I flung a disgusted hand
towards the fortepiano,
having no time for this.
Finishing he looked at me,
his cleft chin held high...
but I had no time to take on new students...
I walked the young man out
patting him on the back...whispering
"the future is yours."
"Who was that?"
Constanze asked, lured
from the next room by the music.
Just then my guests, thinking
I was playing
because I missed their company,
wobbled back into the room--
spilling their wine on the floor and piano,
their loud, hoarse voices
soon raised in a drinking song
the wild young man who had left
quickly forgotten.