Herr Bruckner often wandered into church

to join the mourners at a funeral.

The relatives of Berlioz were horrified.

‘Such harmony,’ quoth Shakespeare, ‘is in

immortal souls … We cannot hear it.’ But

the radio is playing, and outside

rain splashes to the pavement. Now and then

the broadcast fails. On nights like these Schumann

would watch the lightning streak his windowpanes.

Outside the rain is falling on the pavement.

A scrap of paper tumbles down the street.

On rainy evenings Schumann jotted down

his melodies on windowpanes. ‘Such harmony!

We cannot hear it.’ The radio goes off and on.

At the rehearsal Gustav Holst exclaimed,

‘I’m sick of music, especially my own!’

The relatives of Berlioz were horrified.

Haydn's wife used music to line pastry pans.

On rainy nights the ghost of Mendelssohn

brought melodies for Schumann to compose.

‘Such harmony is in immortal souls …

We cannot hear it.’ One could suppose

Herr Bruckner would have smiled. At Tergensee

the peasants stood to hear young Paganini play,

but here there's lightning and the thunder rolls.

The radio goes off and on. The rain

falls to the pavement like applause.

A scrap of paper tumbles down the street.

On rainy evenings Schumann would look out

and scribble on the windows of his cell.

‘Such harmony.’ Cars splash out in the rain.

The relatives of Berlioz were horrified

to see the horses break from the cortege

and gallop with his casket to the grave.

Liszt wept to hear young Paganini play.

Haydn's wife used music to line pastry pans.

DANA GIOIA