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: The following poem was written after a visit to St. Florian's in Austria in 1995. Upon returning home to Schwetzingen, Germany, I composed this, sent it off, and it was immediately accepted for publication in Largo, Florida. Here it is--for Bruckner-lovers: : Bruckner's Tomb : Ninety-nine years lies their symphonic master : in this gray vault : beneath his beloved instrument. : A walled audience of skulls, a Gestalt : of forlorn victims : from some great scourge, stare : emptily and without blood or sinful stains : toward the raised sarcophagus, : peaceful as a mute adagio. : With humbled hand I had to stroke : the coffin lid as though : perhaps by this inaudible chord : he might sense in death : a music-lover's awe. : I was told that the Lord : and the decay of one century : have not yet ravaged his remains-- : he shall rest earth's small eternity : here where the sun will never glare-- : nearest his God-fearing folk : the humble parishioners of Chapel Saint Florian.

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