SPOTLIGHT: ICH HEISSE CLARA: Meine Geschichte by Anne Archer

‘Leipzig, 1825’

A morning like so many mornings,
the usual breakfast clatter, my brothers
squabbling over the last morsel of sausage
the piano open, beckoning
dust motes swirling in the bay window
shaping themselves into notes

except Papa was still upstairs, and
downstairs in the shadow
of the door to the vestibule
I saw Mama and Papa’s friend embrace

Just because I didn’t speak
did not mean I was blind.


Mama’s voice
could bring
an angel to his knees.

Piano Sonata in A minor, R. Schumann’

Here at the edge
of this anxious world
the London elite
queue outside St. James’s Hall

No longer wunderkind
still I am a marvel
to the staid English

Under my fingers
Robert’s newest creations
rage, weep, soar.

‘Stage 4 Syphilis’

Pantry, music room, parlour, nursery
thin walls strewn manuscripts

staves stuttering with crotchets and quavers

Robert’s dark celestial voices

He doesn’t know
they hold us hostage too.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s