CONCERT

If things were still as they were

A hard road would lead to hearing

Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto Number 1,

With Vladimir Horowitz, Arturo Toscanini,

And the New York Philharmonic of 1942.

First, you’d have to collect a pinch of grave dust

For each musician, as well as the stagehands

(Union rules forbid resurrecting the orchestra

Without the stagehands). A flautist

And a French horn player are still alive;

You would have to send them tickets

And make them young again. Then,

Having conjured up the dead (Hint:

Call up Toscanini first) and restored the living

You’d book the Platonic Ideal of concert halls

(Good luck finding an open date!),

Allow for rehearsals, allow for Horowitz

Quitting in a fury no fewer than three times,

But probably no more than seven,

Tell the Tsar that if he wants to come

He must buy a ticket like anyone else.

Well worth it, of course, but not at all easy.

As it is, I put on my earphones and the ghosts

(How kind they have become in death!)

Play it for me, and then the Emperor Concerto.