If
there’s one secret I’d like to share
It is that we are what we
dream,
Or what we fear. –Ben Okri.
1.
Dreaming
of Liszt’s lesson notes
On the piano’s
soft and sustain pedals;
The
fingers of a drunken amateur
Becomes
abracadabra at the pianists’ conference.
2.
Might it
not be that a discord was struck in confidence
And
Steinway’s wood gained its glory, how would one
Explain
this invitation to a conference of experts?
Experts
are made in the mind when silence is sung in parts.
3.
With
fingers moving back and forth in diverse motions
Each
note is pregnant with hopes and harmonies.
Piano
rooms are nothing but theatres in disguise
Where
dreams give birth to melodies that rule the world.
4.
Give the
pianist one more book of etudes and polonaises
Mazurkas are rumored to be for brandy thirsty
amateurs.
This
conference will abruptly come to an end if
A discord
plants beards on Beethoven’s clean shaven chin.
For now,
play on, O pianist, the piano and scores are all yours.
5.
On the
fifth day of the performance plenary
A
Caucasian pianist turns Steinway into a
Djembe
drum—calling names like Euba, Uzoigwe,
Nzewi,
Onyeji, and my dreams tickle me one more time.
6.
In this
mission of both near and faraway
I would
wake up with fingers as swift as this pianist’s
Or I
remain in this dreamland, turning every dream to life
And wearing
them like a smock with many pockets for memories.
7.
Sonatas
from distant piano rooms filter into the plenary room
And
pianists speak in diverse tongues. There is a confession.
Those
pianos are locomotive gods, life caterers, fortune tellers
And
healers whose servants are pianists called to the stage from birth.
8.
How
would this servant free himself from these keys
When all
he sees are black and white as peace and wars?
Freedom
is in the notes that spring forth from these pianos.
Freedom
is the music of all these masters now at rest.
9.
Play on,
O pianist, the piano and scores are all yours.
In this
conference where colours are nothing but sounds,
There is
a jerky rhythm in the air I breathe when I’m far from here.
This
conference has become a home, a sleep that should tarry till eternity.
10.
Must it
be mentioned that short fingers are miracles on the keys?
There
are many instances here. Long fingers don’t guarantee virtuosity.
Short
fingers are tormenting Steinway’s newest products too.
A bald
man parading as a virtuoso makes a short but heavy decree:
“Rachmaninoff
is enough for you all!”
11.
From
another piano room, Mozart’s Rondo Alla Turca starts
A new
debate:
“This
work is not only fit for marionettes and cartoons.
It is
one of the doors to the prodigy’s profound heart and muse”.
O that I
may forever dwell in this transcendence that lightens my being.
12.
As two
pianos speak at once in praise of Mozart’s piano duets,
Moving
clouds follow the tempo as a guardian spirit would
And my
spirit is transported into celestial heights in meditation.
Who on
earth and heaven would dream to kill these melodies?
13.
As I return
from my journey of mediation to seek more sounds,
A hand
taps me gently from behind. I turn and the question faces me:
“Son,
how many pianos are set on heaven’s concert stage?”
I stare
at the answer right in the face. There is only one piano. And one pianist.
14.
The
pianist in me wakes in extreme delight and determination.
To send
my fears on exile, there’s one more etude to play.
Play on,
O pianist, the piano and scores are all yours.
There is
no greater dream than that which gives light and life.
© Echezonachukwu Nduka 2015
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