In April I attended the Winston-Salem Symphony Orchestra’s anniversary performance of Beethoven’s ninth symphony, commemorating its premiere 200 years ago. The first half included one of the overtures to Lenore (Beethoven’s only opera, which would later be revised into Fidelio), “Mir ist so wunderbar” from Fidelio, and Carlos Simon’s “Fate Now Conquers.” Before the performance began, however, conductor Michelle Merrill introduced Simon’s composition, a piece inspired by one of Beethoven’s journal entries. She described “Fate Now Conquers” as containing quintessential Beethovenian elements: a dark, manic energy and “frantic arpeggios.” Merrill finished her introduction by saying no matter how turbulent things become, “joy is just around the corner.”

When I think about the ninth symphony, I can’t help but imagine the premiere, which is now an event of legend. Beethoven—already enduring profound hearing loss in his late years—conducted while the orchestra followed the time given by someone else. Allegedly, one of the vocal soloists had to turn Beethoven around at the end of the performance so he could see the applause and numerous ovations. The ninth is also a contradiction of a masterpiece: it is a melodic wonder, something (arguably) atypical for Beethoven. Its lyrics, derived from Schiller’s poem “An die Freude,” proclaim a longing for universal brotherhood wherever Joy rests its gentle wings (“Alle Menschen werden Brüder, / Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt”), a sentiment surprising for a chronic misanthrope like Beethoven.

But I’m not sure Beethoven’s sentimentality should be surprising. What’s wrong with looking within ourselves, finding everything is not pleasant or tidy, and longing for something better? That’s a question I asked myself when reviewing the poetry selections for the Spring 2024 issue. I have found growing pains in these poems, a desire for genuine connections with others and nature (even with one’s self and senses), and nostalgia. I think of nostalgia as a contradiction as joyful as the ninth symphony—a pining not only for the good things of times past but a preemptive nostalgia, a desire for the joy “just around the corner.”

Here is a little joy for now in the poems we’re showing this issue:

• “No Church in the Wild,” by Thomas Kneeland
• “Sonnetletter to Mule Deer” by Tara Labovich
• “Salt” by Marc Alan Di Martino

When figuring out how to best introduce these poems—and I’m not sure I succeeded—I made a point to reread them, find common motifs, and draw a connection to recent events in my life. While the pains of growing up, searching for identity, and memory are parts of these four poems, one word unites them all: longing. I am the first to admit that none of these poems place joy at the center stage like the chorus bellowing out “Freude!” in Beethoven’s ninth, but these poems contain the feelings—longings—that remind us how freeing joy can be.

These poems have dark and frantic moments, often the “Fate Now Conquers” to our issue. You may notice words such as “scorched,” “scraped,” or “droughtcrackled.” I am tempted to let you ruminate on the sounds of those rough syllables, perhaps even let you feel a little “terror fanfare”—or “Schreckensfanfare,” as the composer Wagner once described the introduction to the finale of the ninth. After all, where is joy without growing pains heralding its arrival?

Before you read this issue’s poems, if ever joy seems impossibly distant and the frantic arpeggios of life seem too great a storm to escape, remember the baritone’s plea before the Ode to Joy: “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne! Sondern laßt uns angenehmere anstimmen und freudenvollere. Freude! Freude!” In English: “O Friends, not these tones! Let us sing more pleasantly and joyfully. Joy! Joy!”

Levi Bradley Jessup
Assistant Editor | Poetry & Micros Editor
The Citron Review