Scriabin. Fantasia In B Minor.

Where was it? Who will understand! - in Moscow, or in Elsinore, where pine trees hold vault of the sky, and waves beat in a B minor. The octaves move in heavy shafts, like beasts, are rushing in alert; their blasphemies are noisy shouts with smile accepted by the gods; and song - a shuttle with the sails, is drawn by the wind so rabid - it pierces the storm, as the blade, is ready to meet with the body. What sounds in it - a plea, a fate, that knock to us, as being silly, or drop of sweat from the forehead that's flowing down on the keyboard, longing that turned in beauty or just beauty that became a force or about her a crazy thought, who has aroused all this storm? translation from Sergey Grohotov