The Pianist

03/07/07

Whilst Szpilman's plight was moving it was the mention of a crying baby smothered by its mother to avoid capture by the Nazis that really resonated.

Words ended and the streams began
To rush and hide
Freeze. And slide;
Keys that feed a man deprived.

It's milk the baby craves.

Play on and let his music cry,
To shriek, increase
In scale then cease;
Picks and tones will make the peace.

A 'WAH!' within the cave.

Up. On. Till six feet up
The man's mind bends,
Breaks and mends;
Highs on which his life depends.

She'll scream us to our graves.

Try, strive and catch the wind,
To stop the roars,
Clutch his scores;
Breeze will breach the cracks in doors.

Choke the child that raves.

Wars ended when his piece began
To soak with sound,
Dry the drowned;
An air reviving barren ground.

Not all music saves.

By Paul Bentley