Performance on the Prairie

All this week the unexpected death of Prince dominated the news, especially here in his home town of Minneapolis. It made me pause, consider what I knew of him, of his music. Not much, I'm embarrassed to admit. His crossover genres were not mine, but still I can appreciate his creativity, his musical genius. At the very least, I know "Purple Rain" and "When Doves Cry," and probably a few more that I didn't realize were his creations.

In any case it started me thinking about music in general and the first concert I ever attended with an internationally recognized headliner. It's probably not what you're thinking.



Performance on the Prairie


At nine my very first concert.
Cellos, flutes and fancy fiddles heard
on the Dakota plains.
Yehudi Menuhin soloed on his violin.
A New Yorker performing there, a maestro
trailing bright lights and Carnegie Hall cache
alongside pastures and cow pies.

Why this journey to a sea of grass
labeled "Empty Lands" by mapmakers?
A son's sense of duty to the underserved?
A chance for prairie winds to catch classical scores?
A desire to trade big city clamor for the music
of meadow larks?

A child doesn't care.
My body hushed as a pianissimo,
my mind cartwheeling through wildflower notes.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor