Frank Corcoran

I love a first performance of a work

Of mine , its sounding tones becoming time ,

And massed motifs and densities and lines

Of thought – the very air will wish to rhyme



With trellised themes , an ” idea ” gone berserk .

Sound´s made flesh , it births there one more time ,

Aerial architecture , points and lines

Of joy or horror ( Mozart´s in his lime …. ) .



It is a birth , a sonic celebration .

It sings ( or bows or plucks ) a ” story ” plain ,

Contorted , ornamented , performed pain..



There is a mystery going on , a gong

Being stroked or choked , a harp bass strong ,

The mystery of all this is very long .