Recollection, Preempted

I remember crickets, hidden,   singing from the green     globes of shrubbery.   Combed gravel, curved kilometers       of ash-grey rivulets         not-to-be-played-on.

  Woodland fairies beckoning              away away

  from the eternal drone of the barytone––

meaning Papa Haydn was out composing in the shed by the horse stables: dread work,

all for the musical Prince.

        (I was told some of these things.) Heat. An entire afternoon   spent in choking dust,     teams of servants lighting jars of black tallow       along the palace steps, all to make   a starry bridge       at nightfall       when the guests arrived

    for one of Papa’s amusements––       ceaseless operas, human and marionette:       inconsequential music, even to a boy’s ears.

      (The puppet theatre   was my favorite hiding place:     dark but glimmering,       a cave inside       a treasure chest.     I sang to myself.   It was like being buried       in jewels.)

But oh, the witchery of orchestral strings––   the full body of sound gathering you in,     as to a mother’s bosom     or a haystack at sunset,       to plunge into   that stinging embrace . . .

        (I was caught listening       and given a toy violin.)

That last year in heaven,   the withering prince crammed every crevice of time with farces—as if to laugh   were health itself:     Barbiere di Siviglia,       Paisiello’s L’amor contrastato,         Cimarosa’s Ilcredulo and L’impressario in angustie.

I remember this, I do!   When we were told to leave   I committed the season’s program to memory. “  Glory for us, boy,” Father growled;   “away from this hinterland!”       But I saw the triumph       in the head porter’s frown,         and dwarf Johann weeping        along the road, tiny       under his bulging pack.

        Papa Haydn in a waistcoat.           standing by the shed.

I confess, I don’t know why I lie so.     We were far away by then––beyond Paris and the revolution,     beyond even my sensational debuts       at Brighton and Bath.