Another Carter tribute

This poem has been taking up space on my hard drive since about 2000. Now seems like an approporiate time to share:

Three Dreams About Elliott Carter

I

My aunt sets out the cookies, and we wait.
The sunlight crawls across the floor. The chair—
The green one near the door— is empty. Late,
     Late,
         Late.
A ticking fills the room, then BANG! he’s there
And starts in right away: “I loathe your town.
A worthless, wasted effort getting here.
What music are you playing? Turn it down,
And while you’re on your feet, get me a beer.”
I let him know the composition’s mine —
Encomium for brass and children’s choir.
He doesn’t flinch. “I sacrifice my time,
And that’s the best I’m able to inspire?”
Apollo sniffed, and Orpheus went mad.
I tell my sister, “This guy’s worse than dad.”

II

After
the crowd
has left,
he sits
on a
wooden
folding
chair. The
rain drips
through a
hole in
the big
tent and
bursts like
tiny
fireworks
on his
lapels.
“Do you
want to
come with
me?” I
say. “Some-
place dry?
Do you
want … ?” He
rises
at my
touch and
follows,
a help-
less and
somewhat
vacant
old man.

III

I’ve got it now. I know it cold —
The harmonies,
The tempo modulations,
The braided orchestrations.
Outside my bedroom, in the hall,
The newel at his hip,
I tell him everything he’s ever done.

And when I’m through, a silence hits
Like rests beyond a twelve-tone chord.
He looks me in the eye without expression,
Takes one step forward, shakes my hand.
“Goodbye,” he says
And turns and stumps off
Stiffly
     Down
         The stairs.