Spring 2019: Poetry Corner
Mouse II
Today I'm a mouse
minute enough
to patter along the pedals
into the piano
The smell of this felt
you must realize
is something divine
assailing our noses
over a distance of miles
Eagerly
we set about the hammers
exploiting them to build our nests
then we nibble at the dampers
until they stop damping
What's the point of dampers anyway
We field mice prefer Aeolian harps
With every breath of air
music materializes
all by itself
delicate and spooky
embellished by our faint whistling
Whoever heard
anything more beautiful
From Playing the Human Game: Collected Poems of Alfred Brendel (Phaidon Press, 2011), courtesy of Alfred Brendel.
Alfred Brendel, pianist and author, began writing poems later in life. At age 88, he continues to lecture and give master classes.
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