For us Vivaldi seems the epitome of beauty,
Order and civilised taste. The measured tread
Of his chords, the pat sequences with their duti-
ful resolution all bespeak more head
Than heart. But there’s another side, hidden
(In true Carnival fashion) by this perfect mask.
The wild, violinistic frenzies which rocket unbidden
From those same textures, the pyrotechnics which ask
No permission for their sheer, physical joy
In music-making, these surely are born
Of a raging fire that belies our image of a coy,
Cold priest. This I love: torn
Between crude invention and over-prim reasoning
He showed how one was improved with the other’s seasoning.
Order and civilised taste. The measured tread
Of his chords, the pat sequences with their duti-
ful resolution all bespeak more head
Than heart. But there’s another side, hidden
(In true Carnival fashion) by this perfect mask.
The wild, violinistic frenzies which rocket unbidden
From those same textures, the pyrotechnics which ask
No permission for their sheer, physical joy
In music-making, these surely are born
Of a raging fire that belies our image of a coy,
Cold priest. This I love: torn
Between crude invention and over-prim reasoning
He showed how one was improved with the other’s seasoning.
(1992)
