A slice of Zwetschgendatschi, a pleasure, the Rose Adagio a thrill,
the Ferrier / Ruckert, a treasure, before the bitterest pill:
that these moments are so very rare, in the vastness, the run-of-the-mill.
And I’ve no interest in what the post may bring,
none in people’s ‘reviews’
of this or that resort or car
or restaurant, hosepipe, shoes.
Recoiling from Das Gerede, longing for silent exile;
I forego my ‘one-time-password’ to the vitriolic bile:
the tiresome moral fury, the nauseous vacuity of ‘style’.
For I’ve no interest what screens may show,
of fakir, guru, seer,
of le dernier cri in garment or hair
or wretched balladeer.
The triumph of mathematics over ethics, the enfeebling of much that was fine;
with discourse banal and barbarian eye there’s mere ongoing decline:
to distraction as prevailing state and mediocrity enshrined.
I’ve no interest in what papers say,
of swagger, foulness, of plain
trickery carrying all before it
and turning all insane.
Set out the the Rockingham Creamer, the Belgian lace, epergne;
the tumbrels are massing at the gate, the worst they bark and bray:
our voyage has foundered on untruth, the crew in disarray.
For I’ve no interest in everyday news,
calamity, chaos, coup,
the wailing of language tattered and torn,
the re-hashed poisonous stew.
BWV 582, the Death of Nikiya, are wonders.
Flagstad is quite extraordinary; then the deity’s blunder:
that these are such a rare delight, amidst famine, flood, plunder.
Peter Jennings
East Sussex
November 2021
The Music Video of this work is at:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUH3nGM6dpw
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