Toying with extreme pieces by phthisic Fred
Chopin, wrapped in a shimmering sonic web,
– His “chromatic embroidery” – showy salon-bred
Fastidiousness painfully sutured into steel
And rubato beyond romanticism, you feel
His slim, spidery hands on yours. Seb
Bach, in absolute contrast, has no fingers:
Agility is coerced into mental hermeneutics. But
Cancrizans or homespun, a beauty abides; it lingers,
Heavenly, bilocating among us, cut
Back to awe-striking cerebrality, heart
And mind still cleaving. How his compostable brain’s
Cells concocted such a height of baroque art
Humbles. Bafflingly, though adamantine, compassion remains.
(18.1.26) v 1.3
