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
