Rita Dove
AUGARTEN, 7 AM
AUGARTEN, 7 AM
Spectator One
Heavenly, to escape the city’s poisons
and breathe honey, honey, honey!
All praise Morning’s cathedral,
the ranks of noble linden presiding:
May we be privileged to pass through
their green light and feathered fragrance
with tipped hats and mute nods,
Amen!
The British Ambassador
. . . There goes Schuppanzigh, huffing up the aisle
in his entrepreneurial trappings.
Dear God, the man expands weekly!
Ah, the Archduke. And Prince Lobkowitz,
poor soul . . . such an unsightly specimen
and feels just as miserable as he looks.
I would have ended it years ago, gone out like a man.
Spectator Two
Curious beginning–– solo violin,
reminiscent of Bach but wilder, a supplication––
and the piano’s reply is almost a lover’s,
a bird on a cliff returning its true mate’s call.
Child
He moves around too much.
He’s like a poplar in the wind!
Spectator Three
For a savage he plays quite nicely.
As for his figure–– tall, slim,
dare I say elegant? I’d heard
he was a charmer, but never thought
chimney soot applied to countenance
could be considered handsome.
Spectator Two
What a furious storm he rides!
And Beethoven listing side to side
in accord with the gale,
bobbing that Rumpelstiltskin head
as if to say “Well done, my boy”. . . .
That’s it–– a father to his prodigal son,
come home at last.
British Ambassador
To call this a sonata is obscene.
A Presto is presto and Adagio . . .
well, slow is meant to stay slow.
This Beethoven is as loopy as they say––
imagine, insulting the Prince
when he simply requested a song,
smashing figurines, dashing off
in the middle of dinner!
Spectator One
I thought that infernal back-and-forth
would never cease. A concert's meant
for reverie, to drift away
on nature's curative susurrations . . .
ah, a Theme and Variations ––
that's more like it.
Child
I like his waistcoat.
How can he see out
from all that darkness?