Once upon a time ... way back in the previous century ... my grandparents had a piano. I believe it was for my mother, but I never heard her play it.
It sat in our living room. I remember a piano tuner coming once to do his magic on it. But mostly it just sat. Oh, I plinked and plunked on it when nobody was looking. But, of course, I couldn't play it.
I didn't feel deprived, and I don't now. There was that imposing upright musical instrument which fed my imagination. I dreamed of playing it someday ... like I dreamed of many other things.
Then one day it was sold. Strangers came to move that magical creation carefully through the front door, down the front steps and into the truck.
And that was that ... except for the poem (be prepared for a slight twist with this one), originally published in Midwest Poetry Review:
I COULD HAVE PLAYED PIANO
My long, skinny fingers
itching for things to do,
toes just barely reaching
the pedals, and my bottom
gripping the slippery edge
of the bench, I dreamed
of playing ragtime, gospel,
boogie-woogie, maybe even
some of that girl-pleasing,
tough, classical stuff.
What I did was what
seemed to come naturally.
With only one lesson,
I flung myself into all
of the old favorites,
playing each several times
before going exuberantly
to the next. Finally,
Grandpa admitted he was
sorry he had taught me
what could be wrought
with a comb and paper.
Oh, I could have played
piano, no doubt, but my lips
wouldn't feel all numb
and fuzzy, like they do now.
© 1997
***
Today's word: fuzzy
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
As you say, Vicki, there is something sad about musical instruments with "all the music locked within them." I have a particular attachment to the piano which sits, silent and neglected. But I try to think of the enjoyment they did bring to those who practiced on them ... and those who listened to the performances. And when they're gone ... as in sold to someone else ... I try to focus on the fact that they are bringing enjoyment to someone ... someone I may never meet ... but someone out there who is playing them, or listening to someone else producing music from them.
1 comment:
It's funny you should be posting this one today. I have a neglected piano like that -- have had it, in fact, for over forty years -- and I was just today thinking of selling it. I took a lot of lessons when I was a kid, none of which actually did me much good. The thing gets used for Christmas carols some years, but otherwise it just sits there gathering dust.
There's something forlorn about musical instruments that don't get played. I think of all the music locked within them that will never get out. We currently own a couple of guitars, a trumpet, a trombone, a violin, assorted recorders, harmonicas, kazoos and, of course, the piano, all relics of our and our children's past endeavors. All silent. All sad.
We too should have stuck with a comb and paper.
Vicki
Post a Comment