Bartók

I do not want such gift where

flattery’s masked as scorn

Eyes veiled by protocols

Hands shuffling intentions.

Those who pick out the notes as if someone else

is playing and they are merely listening.

I once had a recording of the complete Bartók quartets like that.

Every intonation, every rubato, every dynamic change perfect—

but where was the Bartók?

I wish to weep for the life force

breathed by an artist strong and free

and not over an emptied vessel

in a world that has already lost so many tools

of so many honest trades.

Andy Oram
September 23, 2026