Sonata

N.B.: Before you read this poem, please hear about the strange coincidence connected to this poem.

I wrote this poem when living on my own. One day, about two weeks later, I travelled to my Mother's house in Wales. My mother lives in a house next door to the former abode of the poet R.S. Thomas. My mother, after reading some of my poetry, gave me a book by Mr Thomas. I took the book home and, to my astonishment, in the contents list was the word "Sonata", just like my poem! I turned to the relevant page, and was not only the title of the poem the same, but also both were written about the same sonata! I swear upon my life that I'd never heard of the poem before, and it was coincidence that two people that once lived in adjoining houses wrote nearly the same poem about the same song. Believe it or not!

Sonata

The music rolled on, each note followed by one more drastic and deliriously exquisite than the one before.

Each change of pitch plucks at a string within my heart,
bringing with it an orgasm of aural pleasure,
and the crescendo it yet even to start.

The tune entwines me within its rich beauty,
intoxicating me and poisoning me,
the sweet and honeyed aroma of the melody.

I lie here beneath its all enveloping veil of dreaminess,
my world filled by a silky chocolate that whilst sticky and thick,
is as soft and smooth as silken caress.

The beat clamps a fist around my heart and begins to massage it,
turning my pulse to a rhythm of its own,
careless for how it becomes my parasite.

I am in its thrall and I could not be happier,
the world is naught to me but this perfect song,
a seamless place filled with sound and tremor.

Beethoven is calling to me across the ages,
and his call is as strong as that of any who walks the earth,
of any man that yet lives.

I am his slave now, while this song lasts.
Moonlight, I am yours.

Guy Stimpson 4th January 2007