Five Poems by Dawn Pisturino

 

Moderato

First Movement – Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Opus 18

The church bells ring discordant tones,

Sombrely blending with the grey dawn breaking.

Awake. . . Awake. . . to a brand-new day

Of mourning.

Fear and doubt clutch the young composer’s heart,

Rending him in two, reminding him of his St. Petersburg failure,

Creating a divergent counterpoint.

No more. . . No more. . . the church bells cry.

His fingers feel dry and empty on the ivory keys;

But through the window,

Nature’s orchestra chimes in,

Ushering in a slight note of hope.

He hears the strings in his head,

Soft and low, and the theme emerges.

His fingers stroll along the keys,

The notes roll from his supple fingertips.

Woodwinds echo back and forth,

A personal expression of the pain he feels

And the passion in his heart.

A lone horn blows, signaling an avenue of help

In Moscow.

Torn by confusion and ambivalence,

He knows he must respond.

Accompanied by a rising cacophony

Of tension, he departs,

A rudimentary concerto in his head.

   

 

Adagio Sostenuto

Second Movement – Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Opus 18

He throws open the windows at Ivanovka,

Absorbing healing sunshine into his pale skin

And clean, flower-scented air into his tired lungs.

Moscow’s stink and grime cling stubbornly

To his psyche, but the countryside urges him

To retreat into his childhood memories.

Birds trill like nature’s flutes

Among the full-leafed trees,

Insects scurry along the ivy clinging to the walls.

Green lawns roll like treasured carpets

Before his aching eyes,

Rich with nature’s tapestry:

Gardens bright with colorful blossoms and butterflies,

Drifting on a summer breeze.

Imaginary strings soothe his teeming brain

While peasants toil in the fields,

Turning the rich, brown Russian soil. 

Home! Home again! Home!

His heart expands with excitement,

The passion roils in his breast.

His vitality returns; he feels renewed.

His fingers spread with suppleness,

And he’s touching the piano keys,

Expressing his joy.

Bless the good Moscow doctor.

Bless the fresh country air.

Bless the morning’s glorious sun.

Love and beauty and woodwinds

Echo in his ear.

He retrieves the composition

He wrote so many years ago

And forms new notes on the paper.

His second movement springs to life,

Embracing a familiar world.

He knows he will finish it.

 

Allegro Scherzando

Third Movement – Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Opus 18

Nature presents him with her full bounty.                                                                                                                                  

Life resounds with a full orchestra of melodies and moods.

While trouble brews in the rest of Russia,

The young composer lives safely in his dreams,

A relic of the past.

But he is free now of darkness and doubt.

He marches resolutely forward,

A genius in his own right.

His heart swells with resilience and pride

As he strides across the grounds of Ivanovka

On long legs, his large hands clutching a pen.

Absorbing the sun’s life-giving rays,

He puts pen to paper and completes the composition

That will place him among the greats,

Remembered by lovers and enthusiasts alike

For decades to come.

He finds contentment in his work

And can return to Moscow in the autumn

With renewed strength and hope,

Buoyed by a positive outlook

And confidence in his ability to overcome.

 

A Rainy Day

grim clouds cover the valley

with a burial shroud

of smoky fog and moist dew

that dampens the spirits 

trying to lighten up the day

 

the ethereal world of the dead

beckons to me

my hands disappear into the fog

dampness curls my hair

into fat ringlets

tears mingle with the mist

my heart drops like a lead weight

 

cat jumps on my lap

shivering with cold

begging for hugs and kisses

she misses you too

you were her favorite

 

dog howls at unseen ghosts

flying on the clouds

slipping through misty wetness

then slumbers deep in joyful dreams

of running through the fields

free and unfettered

 

rain tip-toes gently on the roof

cat purrs softly

dog rolls over                                                                                                                                 

sleep overcomes me in my chair

I’m with you again on a sunny day

 

Petaluma

 

wet asphalt reeks of

rain-cigarettes-patchouli

from the hippie shop

 

next to the baker

setting out fresh loaves of whole-

grain organic bread

 

sweetened with honey

and freshly-picked rosemary

grown wild on the farm

 

miles from the feedstore

where baby chicks-ducks-geese wait

patiently for homes

 

and children stroking

soft down on trembling bodies

with their baby hands

 

 

Dawn Pisturino is a retired nurse in Arizona whose international publishing credits include poems, short stories, and articles. Her poetry has appeared in several anthologies, most recently in Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology, Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women, and the 2023 Arizona Literary Magazine. She is a Mystery Writers of America and Arizona Authors Association member.

www.dawnpisturino.wordpress.com

www.dawnpisturino.org