“The truth was that Dennis was in no better shape than his brother [Brian], but he still clung to the belief that there was a melody hidden somewhere in the piano that might save them.” —Ben Edmonds, on the Beach Boys.
If the angel is already
in the stone (to quote
one Michelangelo),
and therefore ready
to be chiselled free
at any time by any
old Michelangelo
who happens along,
then maybe the standards
and slighter songs
of the future (the Jeanies
with the light brown hair
as well as the genies
in a bottle) are stored
somewhere in the piano
and have been around
forever. Maybe the great
and the not-so-great
works of art (like flies
in amber or flint arrows
in permafrost) aren’t made
so much as lost and later
found. Maybe the great
composer matters
no more than his writeoff
of a younger brother
or the nice enough but not
especially gifted nun,
or anyone in a habit
of praying near pianos
for something for the love
of God to happen.