"written and performed by the one and only Shane Koyczan a Canadian poet, wordsmith, musician, humourist, observer, story teller, and all around amazing artist"Beethoven
Shane Koyczan
Listen
his father made a habit
out of hitting him
see
some men drink
some men yell
some men hit their children
this man did it all
because I guess all men
want their boys
to be geniuses
Beethoven
little boy living in a house where a name meant nothing
living in a house where mercy had to be earned
through each perfect note tumbling up through the roof to tickle the toes of angels
whose harps couldn’t hold half the passion that was held in
the hands of a young boy
who was hard of hearing
Beethoven
who heard his father’s anthemevery time he put finger to ivory
it was not good enough
so he played slowly not good enough
so he played softly not good enough
so he played strongly not good enough
and when he could play no more
when his fingers cramped up into the gnarled roots of tree trunks
it was not good enough
Beethoven a musician
without his most precious tool his eardrums could no longer pound out rhythms
for the symphonies playing in his mind
he couldn’t hear the audiences clapping couldn’t hear the people loving him
couldn’t hear the women in the front row whispering
Beethoven
as they let the music invade their nervous system
like an armada marching through firing cannonballs
detonating every molecule in their bodies into explosions of heavenly sensation
each note leaving track marks over every inch of their bodies
making them ache for one more hit
he was an addiction
and kings/queens it didn’t matter
the man got down on his knees for no one but amputated the legs of his piano
so he could feel the vibrations through the floor
the man got down on his knees for music
and when the orchestra played his symphonies
it was the echoes of his father’s anthem repeating itself
like a brok-broken recor-brok-broken record
it was not good enough
so they played slowly not good enough
so they played softly not good enough
so they played strongly not good enough
so they tried to mock the man make fun of the madness by mimicking the movements
holding their bows a quarter of an inch above the strings not making a sound
it was perfect
see the deaf have an intimacy with silence
it’s there in their dreams
and the musicians turned to one another
not knowing what to make of the man
trying to calculate the distance between madness and genius
realizing that Beethoven’s musical measurements
could take you to distances reaching past the towers of Babylon
turning solar systems into symbols that crashed together causing comets to collide
creating crescendos that were so loud
they shook the constellations until the stars began to fall from the sky
and it looked like the entire universe had begun to cry
distance must be an illusion
the man must be a genius
Beethoven
his thoughts moving at the speed of sound
transforming emotion
into music
and for a moment
it was like joy was a tangible thing like you could touch it
like for the first time we could watch love and hate dance together
in a waltz of such precision and beauty that we finally understood
the history wasn’t important
to know the man
all we ever had to do was
listen.
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