The Website of Tad Frizzell
Share the Love!

Poetry Tuesdays: The Bogatyr and the Piano

A lone bogatyr on a high hill stood
Ahead the field of battle, behind the gloomy wood
Outnumbered there, but not unwilling
The early Fall his bones a'chilling

There must be a strategy tried and true
To flank or dart, his mind doth rue
An ancient prayer, a steadied hand
Another glance across the land

But what is this he hears behind?
A song whose source he must now find
He turns his head, he looks about
Turning on his warhorse stout

At edge of wood in mist there sits
An ancient wooden instrument
A box shaped strange and full of sound
Strings and keys within it bound

Upon a forest log leans forward
A player, fingers placed in chord
Seeming ever light and airy
One of the tribe of the Azeri

The warrior knows not what to think
The crescendo hails, a “tink, tink, tink"
High and right, what must come next?
The battle awaits, his mind is vexed

Instincts remind the horseman now
What of the battle, the fatal plough?
Back to the plain he must now face
A weathered hand takes hold the mace

A grunt, a gasp, a look ahead
His enemies are all now dead
Slain by melodies adrift
A bloodied hand he need not lift

Another turn to forest bands
Nothing there again now stands
The sword he sheaths, his steed he settles
Into fields of clover petals

Not every war with force is won
Though bogatyrs to battle run
Sometimes a song is all it takes
A victory a soul to make

So if you find yourself my dear
To dreadful battle drawing near
Recall the tale of warrior mine
And how the music here did shine

To experience the remarkable music which inspired this poem, visit the official website of pianist and composer Renara Akhoundova.

Leave a Comment: