I’ve recently been teaching myself how to play piano. Apart from popping down to London to have a go playing in public (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2680r2xUYLk) I’ve also been working on my poetry. Debussy is an amazing composer and this short piece tries to capture some of that magic and splendour that accompanies playing one of his pieces.
I place my hands on middle C,
to try my hand at Debussy.
For despite my unacquainted ear,
and motives that remain unclear
I really want to learn this piece
to let the modern day, decease
and float along in days gone by,
where I never have to say goodbye.
For here I sit to play those notes
that once a minstrel would have spoke
“‘hear the finest work in all of France
and do not dare to miss the chance!”
so concert halls filled to capacity,
with patrons of such strong voracity
for all whom the music captured,
sat silent, still, and lay enraptured.
For his great work transcends the ages
and year on year it fills the stages,
for magic lies in those black notes
that so long ago he wrote.
His presence in this world so missed,
Debussy, the great impressionist.
