Scriabin Improvisation

In a bleak concrete room an anachronistic

Old piano solidly sits there in the middle

With a stool covered in tartan cloth

We've come to hear

A musical improvisation

Lying down on the cold floor

The only light seeps from 

From the stark rectangle entrance

Slowly our eyes adapt to the ambient dimness 

And perceive above our heads an alien sky 

Of coloured bulbs, part of a canopy forest 

Of cables linking each to a piano key.

The improvisation is on Scriabin's

Inherent dissonance of synesthesia 

Awaking wonders with the arrhythmic lighting 

Innocent moments of naivety, softly lighted

Pop in and out of our vision field, 

Heavily followed by the loud thumping of

Brightly bleary greens lights 

Creating a raging aurora Australis 

Above the captive held audience on the floor 

Each of us a blade of grass

All partaking through the floor vibrations

Amplified by the tempo of the pianist

Of the rushing surrounding atmosphere

It is not a soft dreamy ambience 

It is a in your face music

Can't avoid it, 

Somewhat disturbing,

Powerfully sweeping us in a unknown dimension

Playing with our senses and minds

At the mercy of the flowing lights and notes

One is taken away in a roaring torrent

With a short respite for a pristine dawn

Leading us to an excruciating exquisite nostalgia

Of something that could have been 

But never was and the current

Drags us along to an eventual rest

Leaving us alone slowly grasping 

On the bank of reality.

Improvisation on Scriabin

Eli Simić-Prošić

On 18/05/2014

ACCA