Alfred Brendel was born in 1931 in Moravia. He is one of this century's most widely respected pianists and classical recording artists. Among Mr. Brendel's numerous awards are honorary doctorates from London, Oxford, and Yale universities. He has also published two collections of essays about music. One Finger Too Many is his first book of poetry in English.

Richard Stokes teaches languages at Westminster School, London. His most recent book is A French Song Companion, written with Graham Johnson. His translation of Wagner's Parsifal will premiere soon at the English National Opera

This deceptively slight volume is proof that not only good but excellent things often come in small packages. A master of the piano, Alfred Brendel here turns in a deft performance as poet, building fantastic little "word machines" of extraordinary tensile strength. We are drawn immediately into a fun-house world of suspicious but wondrous goings-on: The supernumerary index finger of the pianist in the title poem, we're told, sometimes pointed out "an obstinate cougher in the hall/or emerged from beneath his tailcoat/beckoning a lady in the third row." Elsewhere, Beethoven, disguised as Salieri, poisons a sleeping Mozart and skulks away clutching, forever, Mozart's greatest possession--the key of C minor. And the conceptual artist Christo wraps the Three Tenors on the balcony of La Scala.

These constantly surprising poems enchant even as they sting, revealing the light (and dark) side of Alfred Brendel, one of the world's greatest musicians. His followers will have to have this book, but so will anyone

who enjoys readable poetry touched by a divine madness.

Show More

Show Less

A top-drawer interpreter of Mozart, Beethoven, and Brahms, the pianist Alfred Brendel is famous for his restraint--this brilliant technician never lapses into Romantic fireworks. His first book of poetry evinces a similar modesty. Yet these brief verses, which have been effectively translated from the German by the author and Richard Stokes, also showcase a sneaky and surreal sense of humor. Like the artist he describes in one poem, Brendel is always on the lookout for the comic paradox: "When the dadaist looked into the mirror / he saw some fetching contradictions / himself and his opposite / tomfoolery and method."

Not surprisingly, many of the pieces evoke the world of classical music. The title poem asks us to imagine a pianist with a kind of utility finger, capable of clarifying a knotty passage or "beckoning a lady in the third row." Elsewhere Brendel compares the public ardor of concertizing to the more private one of sex, saddling his pianist with a truly formidable case of performance anxiety: "both reviled and spurred on by the public / painstakingly supervised by the author / who / on top of it all / has entrusted the lovers with the burden of dialogue." Still, the author's poetic interests extend considerably beyond the keyboard. One Finger Too Many is infused with a healthy dose of skepticism, and on several occasions Brendel applies the nightstick to organized religion:

And once again

the Lord of the Universe

recorded a day of good works

three religious wars launched

several tornadoes let loose

a new brand of pestilence devised

utopias planted into souls

countless children successfully harmed

a good reason

to grant oneself a moment's rest

True, a literary spitball like the above isn't about to shake the convictions of a true believer. But that's not the point. These poems are written to amuse, edify, and tickle the reader's sensibility--banging the pulpit is something that Brendel the poet (and Brendel the pianist) religiously avoids. --James Marcus

From Library Journal

Music lovers will be familiar with Brendel as a world-renowned pianist and recording artist. They may also be familiar with his essays and lectures on musical subjects, in which he has been known to ask, "Must Classical Music Be Entirely Serious?" and in which he lists "laughing" as his favorite occupation. He singles out the cartoons of Charles Addams, Edward Gorey, and Gary Larson as favorite minor muses, and so it is not surprising that this most recent foray into poetry is a winsome m?lange of unfettered whimsy and gnomic wit. Perhaps the flavor of this slender volume is best captured by a poem in which a Dadaist looks in the mirror to see "some fetching contradictions/ himself and his opposite," "tomfoolery and method," "sense within nonsense," "anarchy and poise," "Beethoven mustachioed, [and]...even little Jesus...with his tongue stuck out of course." One other stylistic contradiction perhaps should be mentioned: the sheer readable fun of these verses packaging powerful, if enigmatic, truths. Recommended for all public libraries.AThomas F. Merrill, Univ. of Delaware, Newark

Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Kirkus Reviews

Celebrity poetrywhether by a fetching folksinger (Jewel), a sincere ex-president (Jimmy Carter), or, in this case, a world- class concert pianistis always ruled by one fact: it wouldnt be printed were it not for its authors extra-literary fame. This Austrian-born musician, whos written two volumes of essays on music, contributes nothing of permanence to the literary canon, but that seems beside the point. His fans will no doubt enjoy these short jottingspoems by virtue of their loose syntax, short- line phrasings, and lack of punctuation. A moralist and fabulist, Brendel displays his good taste and breeding everywhere in these sometimes absurdist little narratives. The title derives from a line in Finger, about a pianist with an extra index finger, a poem that embodies many of Brendels recurring themes: performance anxiety, the burdens of fame, and annoying audiences. Many poems concern the stageactors who have to simulate lovemaking every night; what happens when Godot finally arrives; and another actor preparing to play Othello. The great composers dot these pages, often in fantastical short sketches: their ghosts visit an old woman at night; Brahms fidgets impolitely and stinks of cigars; and Beethoven conspires murderously against Mozart. Brendels skepticism reveals itself in politically tinged poems about leaders who stop laughing; self-important opinion-makers; and empty heroism. But the poet reserves his strongest rebuke for unruly audiencesthe coughers, sneezers, and clappers among us. Celebrity verse for high-brow concertgoers, who will be properly amused. -- Copyright ©1999, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

Review

"I have hugely enjoyed Alfred Brendel's unexpected One Finger Too Many. Brendel's poems are trapdoors into his dream-life, witty, Dadaesque and subversive--especially of his own grandeur as a musician."

--A. Alvarez, Times Literary Supplement, International Books of the Year

"Alfred Brendel's poems are a delight. His voice is wonderfully eccentric, droll, sly, mischievous--the same brilliant fingers making a new sound." --Harold Pinter

"Alfred Brendel, the poet, is a master of interruptions, of swerves and indirections, of jokes that land where no one is looking. A lucid hilarity--sometimes tinged with delicate melancholy--reigns throughout these poems."

--Michael Wood

"Unique...often brilliant and surprising....Most refreshingly, Brendel can capture the 'serious' without taking himself seriously....A book of great wit and humour."

--The Observer (London)

Language Notes

Text: English (translation)

Original Language: German

From the Inside Flap

This deceptively slight volume is proof that not only good but excellent things often come in small packages. A master of the piano, Alfred Brendel here turns in a deft performance as poet, building fantastic little "word machines" of extraordinary tensile strength. We are drawn immediately into a fun-house world of suspicious but wondrous goings-on: The supernumerary index finger of the pianist in the title poem, we're told, sometimes pointed out "an obstinate cougher in the hall/or emerged from beneath his tailcoat/beckoning a lady in the third row." Elsewhere, Beethoven, disguised as Salieri, poisons a sleeping Mozart and skulks away clutching, forever, Mozart's greatest possession--the key of C minor. And the conceptual artist Christo wraps the Three Tenors on the balcony of La Scala.

These constantly surprising poems enchant even as they sting, revealing the light (and dark) side of Alfred Brendel, one of the world's greatest musicians. His followers will have to have this book, but so will anyone

who enjoys readable poetry touched by a divine madness.

From the Back Cover

"I have hugely enjoyed Alfred Brendel's unexpected One Finger Too Many. Brendel's poems are trapdoors into his dream-life, witty, Dadaesque and subversive--especially of his own grandeur as a musician."

--A. Alvarez, Times Literary Supplement, International Books of the Year

"Alfred Brendel's poems are a delight. His voice is wonderfully eccentric, droll, sly, mischievous--the same brilliant fingers making a new sound." --Harold Pinter

"Alfred Brendel, the poet, is a master of interruptions, of swerves and indirections, of jokes that land where no one is looking. A lucid hilarity--sometimes tinged with delicate melancholy--reigns throughout these poems."

--Michael Wood

"Unique...often brilliant and surprising....Most refreshingly, Brendel can capture the 'serious' without taking himself seriously....A book of great wit and humour."

--The Observer (London)