There were often tears before bedtime
Finding his way
Towards the excruciating pleasure
Of saying what you mean
Immortal fire
Tempered by craft and the tension it inspires.
 
The young composer and his ageing teacher
On passports to the dark side
Connected with those treacherous tides
Seeking, beyond their cosseted world
Those deep European notes:
Auslanders in dangerous times.
 
Bridge gave Britten a life raft for exploration
The elemental gift of technical armour:
Those responsive skills of discipline and art
Staunched the anguish
And fed that unflinching gaze on the horror
On the pity and the innocence.
 
The voice that finally sings
Is fissured by beauty and pain
Each note flecked with meaning.
 
To be a composing mortal
Was indeed a mighty ask
In 1930s England.
 
Febrile
Yet with nerves of steel
He charts his way towards infinity:
 

 

Gar Jones:  June 2017

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