Schubert’s terrible love


It wasn’t his fault.
His friend von Schober made him do it.
They lived together,
and of course there was some tension and excitement,
so he took him on to have some fun.
It was so innocent,
so fatally infernally and tragically innocent.
The whore he took him to had syphilis,
which wasn’t obvious until afterwards
but then so much the more.
It ruined Schubert’s life,
just in the middle of his greatest symphony,
the so called atmospherical unfinished one;
he lost his hair and all his health
and never quite recovered.
So he died at thirty-one,
the most prolific, talented and diligent composer ever,
with especially a divine talent for the melody,
which never afterwards has been surpassed.
Well, was it woth it?
One night’s love with the wrong person,
and a ruined life as the inevitable consequence,
but with the most remarkable and glorious output ever
in the history of music
paradoxically at the same time.
We don’t know what Schubert’s life would have amounted to
without that one off-side encounter,
but we know,
that that most loveable undying music
that resulted from that tragedy
was quite enough to make in all the music history
Franz Schubert’s name in some respects
the greatest of them all.


© aurelio 2022
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I love Schubert too and this poem lauding his work and regretting his senseless death is fitting tribute to a great composer. Well done.

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