Time before language
Memories
of when
I
was in a pram
Being
pushed along
Pathways
that had
That
signature
Which
doesn’t articulate
Any
more than I was
Able
to say words
Back
then, while in the pram
Being
pushed down
Past
sign posts
That
haven’t changed
For
over thirty years.
Something
about them
Has
remained
And
I am spell bound
Looking
at a time
Before
words
Were
something to me
Within
the babble
Of
various noises.
Something
says that I
Once
lived at this place
But
I can’t say
What
that is.
Maybe
the curving paths,
Maybe
the type of trees,
Maybe
the atmosphere,
Maybe
the earth’s beat;
But
I can’t say
Exactly
what that is
Except
in gibberish.
Dr Seuss memories…
My
Dad reading
The
same old pages
Of
rhyming and rhyming
Words
and pictures
That
sent us sleeping.
The
endless repetitions!
He
must’ve found it boring,
When
we would ask again
For
the same old book
For
him to read us
Well
then, he’d say, okay then
And
take a look
And
never make a fuss.
Pianoforte
It is said piano is a
percussion instrument,
As inside the hammer
hit the strings…
My memories of pianos
are of when young I
Spent a year playing
the same piece
Of music for my
perfectionist piano teacher
In order to enter
competitions and win.
I didn’t have perfect
pitch
Like my brother, who
played Percy Granger’s
‘Gollywog’s cake walk,’
without fear
He was making raciest
music.
I would perdure the
peregrination
From one town to
another
In search of
competitions where
My brother, the
prodigy, would perform.
I would also play piano
there
And practice per diem,
but not ad nausium.
My persistence on the
piano keys didn’t pay off
Though. I was more into
painting.
I once saw a painted
piano
And my mother remarked,
‘How awful,
That paint would ruin
the piano’s tone.’
I thought how, instead
of plain pink,
I would paint pixies
playing other instruments
In a perfume of
pigments,
Making the piano less
perfunctory.
There was a lot I
didn’t see
That was hidden
percolating silently
For those who could
periscope
The deep waters and
unpick the poetry
Of the stave of notes,
signs, signatures and lines
Put down by
pain-staking composers of the pianoforte.
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ReplyDeleteExquisite melodies inside words NO; brilliant and all so touching; you take us back to our childhood sweetnesses
ReplyDeleteGo well
Glenn