b.z. niditch | bartok's connection

BARTOK’S CONNECTION

On my uncle’s dare
to attempt to finger me
with the piano sonata 3
of Bartok
I fell by rose thorns
of gouged moments
in sturm and drang
of a swirling madness
releasing all reason
losing my subtle will,
attire and appearance
and class
here on stage
of once confident rehearsals
being only a shadow
of my melancholy self
here at my noon recital
with my professors
always so fortunate
as to look out for
my future,
I excavated my notes
in my mind
and like Proust
to recapture my past
and played the Bartok,
later back in the States
taken to a Broadway Show
of Sondheim’s maddening
“Sweeney Todd”
half reading my program
being exhausted
from the squirming flight
and buckled knees
quickly awakening
to the opening song
which had Bartok’s melody
of his piano sonata 3
trapped by the coolness
of my ephemeral sanguinity
and sometime emulous
obsession of not missing
a beat of musical
conjecture or conjuncture
now understood what led
to my own stimulus
to one of Hungary’s best.