String Quartet in G minor, opus 10 – Claude Debussy
by richibi
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if I’ve been away from my post for so long,
it’s either because my muse had left me,
abandoned me to the rigours of an
especially inclement winter, cold, driving
rain, short somber days, weather for
isolation, insulation, hibernation
or, like Persephone, I’d been abducted
as to an Underworld, moral as well as
meteorological, however cosseted might’ve
been there my stay, eiderdown pillows,
blankets, books, Internet movies, concerts,
plays, until by permission of Pluto, fateful
consort, God of the Netherworld, by the
intercession of Mother Demeter, Queen of
the Harvest, I’ve been allowed, even urged,
to return for spring
where cherry blossoms are burgeoning,
flowers bud in their variety of colours,
birds sing, trees, like myself, begin to
scratch out their brimming script onto
the open-armed page of heaven
I’d left the string quartet evolving towards
Bohemia and Russia, in the capable hands
its solid roots in Vienna with Haydn and
it would evolve westwards, of course, too
to France eventually, as the centre of art
shifted somewhat from Vienna to Paris in
the late 19th Century, and spread, through
paint mostly, the eye superseding the ear,
wresting the cultural reins from music as
oracle for the times, the new perspective
of Impressionism
here’s a string quartet of Debussy, in G
the emotional seductiveness of
Romanticism, but rather driving, electric,
cosmopolitan, teeming with traffic, it’s
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