E.C. Traganas
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The Demolition
‘Organ playing is the manifestation of a will filled with the vision of eternity’ — Charles-Marie Widor (1844–1937) A silent hush descends upon the hall Footsteps swallowed, whole, Engulfed until they are no more. Breathing choked, strangled by the throat While air is stopped and corked A bottle set aside and left to age. The lights are dimmed, switched on, Then dimmed again: A blackened swell of darkness Blooms and cleaves the vacuum In a mushroom-cloud of pregnant spores Harnessed and ready to erupt. My eyes blindfolded, arms and legs Immobilized and pinioned in their place. The panoply begins. A primal roar—the earth begins to tremble underground A pitchless sound like nascent thought shrieking and pushing Upwards from its underbelly bearing down And giving birth to shape and form From formless will. A chord emerges—incomprehensible and clear. A whistling pipe explodes, and then another -- And another—metal choirs building blocks Of concrete rocks and tidal-walls of elemental spheres, Hard, brutal, prehistoric force—My spirit is besieged. Brash trumpets flay my skin, My flesh exposed and bleeding from within. A massive boulder shoves a gut-punch to my chest; Sight is undone, my ears torn out. I feel my senses dying for a spell: The wrecking-ball continues to disarm me. A brief, deceptive snare: a shepherd piping Melancholy flutes and stars from distant Honey-suckled meads? I fall into a lulling stupor, Await my fate to come. A crash of planks, shrill swords collide, A cavalry of horsemen tramples on my breast. My bones have cracked, entrails are smashed, My heart is rent asunder, thumping, Draining pulsing beats of lifeblood in arrest. My body fastened to its seat Hangs stupefied and lifeless in defeat. A gasp of breath shocks and convulses; Dazzling light illuminates the hall. My name is gone—I am reborn anew! While rippling pairs of limpid hands Clatter and clap in thunderous applause Amidst the roaring din and tongue-tied shouts of awe. My tormentor emerges center stage And, grinning, takes a long, protracted bow. The Organist Virtuoso leaves, the concert ends. I gather limbs and mangled bones And stagger rescued and rekindled down the aisle. |
Author of the debut novel Twelfth House and Shaded Pergola, a collection of short poetry with original illustrations, E.C. Traganas has published in a myriad of literary reviews. She enjoys a professional career as a Juilliard-trained concert pianist & composer, and is the founder/director of Woodside Writers, a literary forum based in New York.