Not a poem at all!
justam
Posts: 21,410
Thoughts on being young and old
The woman who taught me my trade as I was growing up was a dynamo. A petite blonde woman in an Eva Gabor wig who played her instrument like an angel or a devil depending on what the piece required. I adored her. She was infamous in San Francisco for her charm and her ability and her rather dramatic tantrums on occasion.
She was the first person I knew that was an old person (somewhere vaguely above 65 for the ten years I was with her) who was also a child. She’d been a child prodigy in Budapest and tramped Europe playing concertos until Hitler made artists run for cover in the US. This bit of verbage is really about non-age, or, childlike adults and serious children. It happens when you are expected to express a man’s emotions convincingly as a young girl.
I was the only child in her flock. And it didn’t matter to her that I was young. She expected me to play like a demon too if the piece needed it. (Even while expecting me to be demure and innocent at all other times.) While she could be charming and speak with a kind whisper when calm, she could also fire angry words out like a machine gun when provoked.
“You can’t be a noodle brain and play Beethoven! Grow a spine or don’t come back!!”
“Are you MAD?!! You can’t play a Liszt rhapsody while you’re asleep!! The man was ON FIRE!!”
“Only a moron would play a phrase in such a thoughtless way.”
“Every line of music has to communicate something. Don’t even bother playing it if you’re going to bore a person to death.”
(Worse things have been blocked out I’m sure.) But, I think having to constantly look under the surface of every sound did something to the way the child thought. At least, I can’t see how it wouldn’t. Having to pull out a convincing demonstration of an angry young man became easy. She loved me ‘cuz I was good at imitation. Young people are so moldable.
Anyway, maybe that’s why the older I get, the more I realize she’s still with me. I’ve become an adult who is still partially a child and I don’t mind ‘cuz it seems fair since I was made to be a child who was partially an adult.
The woman who taught me my trade as I was growing up was a dynamo. A petite blonde woman in an Eva Gabor wig who played her instrument like an angel or a devil depending on what the piece required. I adored her. She was infamous in San Francisco for her charm and her ability and her rather dramatic tantrums on occasion.
She was the first person I knew that was an old person (somewhere vaguely above 65 for the ten years I was with her) who was also a child. She’d been a child prodigy in Budapest and tramped Europe playing concertos until Hitler made artists run for cover in the US. This bit of verbage is really about non-age, or, childlike adults and serious children. It happens when you are expected to express a man’s emotions convincingly as a young girl.
I was the only child in her flock. And it didn’t matter to her that I was young. She expected me to play like a demon too if the piece needed it. (Even while expecting me to be demure and innocent at all other times.) While she could be charming and speak with a kind whisper when calm, she could also fire angry words out like a machine gun when provoked.
“You can’t be a noodle brain and play Beethoven! Grow a spine or don’t come back!!”
“Are you MAD?!! You can’t play a Liszt rhapsody while you’re asleep!! The man was ON FIRE!!”
“Only a moron would play a phrase in such a thoughtless way.”
“Every line of music has to communicate something. Don’t even bother playing it if you’re going to bore a person to death.”
(Worse things have been blocked out I’m sure.) But, I think having to constantly look under the surface of every sound did something to the way the child thought. At least, I can’t see how it wouldn’t. Having to pull out a convincing demonstration of an angry young man became easy. She loved me ‘cuz I was good at imitation. Young people are so moldable.
Anyway, maybe that’s why the older I get, the more I realize she’s still with me. I’ve become an adult who is still partially a child and I don’t mind ‘cuz it seems fair since I was made to be a child who was partially an adult.
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As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
She actually was. I spent a lot of time with her when I was growing up. I don't do her justice with this tiny little thing, but I've been thinking about her this week and so this came out.
As fair as fair can be, justam!
I second that! Good read!
No one needs a smile more than someone who fails to give one,
After you die...you know how to LIVE!
indeed....thnkyou for sharing
And I won't make the same mistakes
(Because I know)
Because I know how much time that wastes
(And function)
Function is the key
"Forgive every being,
the bad feelings
it's just me"