The relief of taking my fingers off the keyboard,
as if they’d been fastened against my will
by heavy chains;
locked there.
They had!
The chains of my mother’s determination –
she who loved to glide her own slim hands
across that straight row of moving blocks
firmly,
indenting them correctly,
just the right
pauses,
timing,
pressure,
on evenings after I was in bed
while my father listened, smiling,
and I from my room
heard and wondered
what’s wrong with me?
And my little brother,
what did he hear?
He who went on
to be the other pianist
in our nuclear family of four.
(Though I don’t think he missed it
after he became a man and didn’t
have or use a piano
ever again as far as I know.)
At least he knew the notes.
Me, I only understood
where my fingers ought to go
by looking at the marks in the book
on the slim shelf above the keyboard.
The creation of music was such mystery!
I did like to hear it;
had my favourite songs on the radio.
I loved to open my mouth and let them pour
into the world through me –
and again didn’t know
why listeners said I got them wrong.
I knew all the words! (Furthermore
nobody else ever did. It wasn’t fair.)
It seemed what I heard in my head,
filling the cave of my skull,
was not what flew out on my breath.
But I couldn’t tell. To me
I was singing it right …
I remain thankful
through my dislike
for that surly young teacher
who finally faced my parents down
and freed me.
I suppose, for him,
it had been
torture.
(Me too, mate,
me too.)
But when I wrote words on paper,
ah, that was different!
The world outside me
dropped away,
the inner expanded,
swelling into the clouds, the stars,
the consuming sun.
I became alight –
and being lone never mattered again.
The words uttered music, the words
danced, played,
soared and flew.
I didn’t even mind that sometimes
I was the only one
who could truly hear them.
Just so long as I could!
And I did
and I do
hear them true.
NaPoWriMo 2025, Day Twenty-Two.
We were asked to write about a satisfying achievement, as Diane Wakoski did about her piano lessons. At first I thought I was subverting the prompt, but it turned out that was only the (long, impassioned) preamble, and I did write to it after all.
I so desperately wanted to play the piano, but my parents couldn’t afford the lessons. I used to play my great aunt’s piano when we visited her, and found I could pick out tunes at an early age. You brought the relief to life, Rosemary, with your fingers ‘as if they’d been fastened…by heavy chains’. I imagine you were affected by her disappointment that you didn’t follow in her footsteps. ‘Words on paper’ are the love of my life too.
ReplyDeleteI was a disappointment to her in many ways. Yes it did affect me.
Delete