Once I said something vague about the piano music of the future. There
is something very definite to be said about it. I think the next music
written for the piano will have in it a high concentration of clear
color-sound and that the new pianist will focus his technique to just
one end: to the clearest expression of this color-sound identity. Sea
mist, for instance, has certain colors and certain smells; if you are
keen-sensed it has certain sounds. You may say it has been the aim of
all composers and musicians to put nature into music. Well, it has been
the aim of most poets to put nature into poetry, but the Imagists _have
done it_: their medium is not only a more direct one: the point is that
they seem to have dispensed with a medium. Their words don’t merely
convey color to you; they _are_ the color. The new musician can do
this—and I believe he can do it on the piano better than on any other
instrument. His music will be all these things:[1]
Sea orchards, and lilac on the water, and color dragged up from the
sand; drenched grasses, and early roses, and wind-harps in the cedar
trees; flame-flowers, and the sliding rain; frail sea-birds, and blue
still rocks, and bright winds treading the sunlight; silver hail stones,
and the scattering of gold crocus petals; blackbirds in the grass, and
fountains in the rain; lily shadows, and green cold waves, and the
rose-fingered moon; pine cones, and yellow grasses, and a restless green
rout of stars; cloud whirls, and the pace of winds; trees on the hill,
and the far ecstasy of burning noons; lotus pools, and the gold petal of
the moon; night-born poppies, and the silence of beauty, and the perfume
of invisible roses; white winds and cold sea ripples; blossom spray, and
narcissus petals on the black earth; little silver birds, and blue and
gold-veined hyacinths; river pools of sky, and grains of sand as clear
as wine....
It will be made of dream-colored wings, and whispers among the flowering
rushes; of moonlit tree-tops, and the gaiety of flowers; brown fading
hills, and the moving mist; sea rose, and the light upon the poplars;
shaken dew, and the haunts of the sun, and white sea-gulls above the
waves; bright butterflies in the corn, and a dust of emerald and gold;
broken leaves, and the rose and white flag-stones; sea iris with petals
like shells, and the scent of lilacs heavy with stillness; scarlet
nasturtiums, and dry reeds that shiver in the grasses; slim colorless
poppies, and the sweet salt camphor flowers; gold and blue and mauve,
and a white rose of flame; pointed pines, and orange-colored rose
leaves; sunshine slipping through young green, and the flaring moon
through the oak leaves; wet dawns, and a blue flower of the evening;
butterflies over green meadows, and deep blue seas of air, and hyacinths
hidden in a far valley....
It will be of harsh rose and iris-flowers painted blue; white waters,
and the winds of the upper air; green wine held up in the sun, and rigid
myrrh-buds scented and stinging; the lisp of reeds, and the loose
ripples of meadow grasses; mists on the mountains, and clear frost on
the grass blade; frail-headed poppies, and sea-grass tangled with shore
grass; the humming brightness of the air, and the sky darting through
like blue rain; strewn petals on restless water, and pale green
glacier-rivers; somber pools, and sun-drenched slopes; autumn’s gold and
spring’s green; red pine-trunks, and bird cries in hollow trees; cool
spaces filled with shadow, and white hammocks in the sun; green glimmer
of apples in an orchard, and hawthorn odorous with blossom; lamps in a
wash of rain, and the desperate sun that struggles through sea mist;
lavender water, and faded stars; many-foamed ways, and the blue and
buoyant air; grey-green fastnesses of the great deeps; a cream moon on
bare black trees; wet leaves, and the dust that drifts over the
court-yard; moon-paint on a colorless house....
It will be pagan temples and old blue Chinese gardens; old pagodas
glittering across green trees, and the ivory of silence; vast dark trees
that flow like blue veils of tears into the water; little almond trees
that the frost has hurt, and bitter purple willows; fruit dropping
through the thick air, and wine in heavy craters painted black and red;
purple and gold and sable, and a gauze of misted silver; blue
death-mountains, and yellow pulse-beats in the darkness; naked
lightnings, and boats in the gloom; strange fish, and golden sorceries;
red-purple grapes, and Assyrian wine; fruits from Arcadia, and incense
to Poseidon; swallow-blue halls, and a chamber under Lycia’s coast;
stars swimming like goldfish, and the sword of the moonlight; torn
lanterns that flutter, and an endless procession of lamps; sleepy
temples, and strange skies, and pilgrims of autumn; tired shepherds with
lanterns, and the fire of the great moon; the lowest pine branch drawn
across the disk of the sun; Phoenecian stuffs and silks that are
outspread; the gods garlanded in wisteria; white grave goddesses, and
loves in Phrygia; wounds of light, and terrible rituals, and temples
soothed by the sun to ruin; the valleys of Ætna, and the Doric
singing....
... The moon dragging the flood tide, and an old sorrow that has put out
the sun; whirling laughter, and the thunder of horses plunging; old
tumults, and the gloom of dreams; strong loneliness, and the hollow
where pain was; the rich laughter of the forest, and the bitter sea; the
earth that receives the slanting rain; lost treasure, and the violent
gloom of night; all proud things, and the light of thy beauty.... Souls
of blood, and hearts aching with wonder; the kindness of people—country
folk and sailors and fishermen; all the roots of the earth, and a
perpetual sea....
[1] _I have omitted quotation marks for the sake of appearance,
but every phrase in the next five paragraphs is taken from the
Imagists._