"Mozart at the Spinet" by Anton Romako ‘Mozart’s Whisper’ by Robert Phelps The Society February 11, 2017 Beauty, Poetry 3 Comments Mulched beyond bones, but reprieved, Wolfgang has a home in my mind, and he’s still bereaved. From his pauper’s grave, and with a whispered pitch, I’ve summoned him with my ‘On/Off’ switch. I’ve a front row seat, alone in my darkened room. Herr Mozart performs for an audience of one, shadow playing delicious symphonic strains, running up and down melodic stairs, as he claims, even after two hundred and twenty-five years, a charmed dominion over my captive ears; with Apollo’s cocoon of pastel tones. Songs of heaven; a concerto composed in late ‘eighty seven, when he visited Prague. And while this delights me, I’m forever restless, because now I can see that I’ve been seeking the center within the sound, the eye of the storm, the silence that his music surrounds. I hear a whisper from that unmarked grave: “Don’t learn this too late…Everything that is, only invites. And all that is silent only waits.” Robert Phelps is a 76 year old Catholic priest, a Capuchin friar, who began writing in 1991 on a private retreat in a rain forest in western Maui. He has been “at it” since then, and has 3 chapbooks published, two, Ever and Point of View, by Finishing Line Press, and one an e-book, Incessancy, Stories of God, e-published through Book Baby. He lives in Beacon, New York. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 3 Responses Dona Fox February 11, 2017 Genius. I agree with the phrase in the poem but direct it at the poem “this delights me” especially the revelation and the reply at the end. Thank you! Reply Michael R. Burch February 12, 2017 Very nice! Bravo! I was able to visit Mozart’s boyhood home in Salzburg, and see the baby grand piano where he learned to play. Later in life, I saw pool sharks like “St. Louie” Louie Roberts demonstrate another kind of genius, which could get very expensive if they talked you into a game! More recently, I saw a little girl, Jackie Evancho, sing as well, or better, than the opera’s greatest sopranos. I think the poem does a very good job of drawing us into Mozart’s genius. Reply Reid McGrath February 12, 2017 Fr. Phelps, I am enamored of your ability to vacillate between rhyme and blank verse, and your ability to use a variety of meters. The hexameter is Homeric. Dana Gioia once told me that he likes to be unpredictable in his poetry, and the form of this poem his highly unpredictable. It reminds me of Gioia’s poetry. I like it. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.