Composure
for Sonny Rollins
Every note I hit is wrong.
I hit it too hard or I hold it too long.
I play it too slow or I play it too fast.
Or I play it just right without knowing what's next.
Hearing the gap I start to panic.
My left hand goes in search of the tonic.
My right hand sends out a sonic array:
Surely one of these notes must be okay?
On my way to it I hear something strange,
So I back right up and play it again.
There's something to it so I keep on diggin'
Trying to get this new stuff to fit in,
Hoping it doesn't all sound like crap
As I start trying to find my way back.
Before I get there, it all falls apart
My right hand and left hand grope in the dark.
Mercifully, the piece is now over
As I sit weeping and try to recover.
On listening back the all angst is gone!
So is the feeling I've done something wrong.
All that is left are the notes of this song.
Unk, you are doing CPR on the Cardboard Rhino, and I hope it heart does start beating again!
ReplyDeleteAs for this poem, it is touching, raw, it pulls me in, starting with the gap in line five I start to panic with you, and I sit weeping with you, but, amen: life will be a song in retrospect, all the angst is what it feels like to be alive, to create and be created.........
Thank you very kindly, Neff. It is three-quarters of an excellent poem and the best I've written in some time.
ReplyDeleteGood work, Steve!!
ReplyDeleteWell Durn - How did I miss this one? This describes the stages of grief I go through with every artistic endeavor.
ReplyDelete