Global Baching

Bach comes on – cantata 146 –
when they put the needle to the groove
and the first notes spray from the nozzle
up immediately goes the picture:
a grumbly old man in a powdered wig
fat-faced frown
harsh, hooked eyebrows
hanging chunks of porcine cheek
and a swathe of second chin
constricted by a too-high necktie

This is not the punishment doled to Wagner
Rachmaninoff receives no display of like kind
Scriabin stays image free on the screen
even Mozart – no man shown, but rather
a mountain reflected in a lake surrounded by golden grain
like a radiant blue cunt in a field of downy wheat-hairs
nature – pure, sullied by neither men nor Mozart
majestic simplicity tickling the keys
lapping at sandy shores
water-tongues melted off snowy peaks

Other composers are immortal,
but Bach
100% man – dead at 65
says the trivia blurb on
Music Choice Channel one-oh-five-point-twenty-one
never left father Germany nor traveled beyond
his native Hamburg
a life rooted in space, time, body and face
of an old man – always age-ravaged and proud –
full of music to define man, crush mountainsides,
dry lakes and strike fields fallow

How could he have known so much?


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