Pulling the Organ Stops

[MoonyLuna]

1791: St. Paul's Cathedral



[Clement]
Dressed for rejoicing in red jackets,
we climb the sides of the organ
to reach the knobs. I yank out a note,
mix in a fifth, an octave, add eerie flutes
and a buzzing multitude of strings.
George grins, tugging the bass flue
like a helmsman on the Thames.
I prefer the celestes, but reeds are best
for angelic trumpet blasts.

[Bridgetower]
It's like dancing with thunder,
scrabbling over the groaning deck
of a pitching ark to scale the mast,
Jacob climbing his ladder of light.
No reason for Franz to put on
that somber face. Look at Papa, who is—
how could he help it?—smiling
as we scoot along, poised for his nod
to release God's glory into the air.

[Haydn]
Understand, all music is physical.
Bassoons rattle bones; a violin tweedles—
and like a tooth biting down on a sweet,
pierces the brain. But the organ
climbs into your chest, squeezing
as it shudders—a great lung
hauling its grief through the void
until we can hear how profoundly
the world has failed us.


Copyright
Rita Dove

[MoonyLuna]

Featured Poet
Rita Dove


Rita Dove is a former United States Poet Laureate, recipient of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Humanities Medal and a current chancellor of the Academy of American Poets. Her most recent collections are Sonata Mulattica (poems and a short play), forthcoming from Norton in 2009 and American Smooth (2004), also from Norton. She is Commonwealth Professor of English at the University of Virginia.