At the piano
my fingers slide in patterns
across the patterns of black and white
tracing memories of your fingers
sliding in patterns of their own
my feet tap and press
in dark rhythms underneath
where I used to sit in shadows
to watch yours
the memory of a moment
when your hands held those
of my daughter next to mine
sliding across the keys
is one I retrace often
in moments like these
when my feet and fingers echo
the patterns of yours
across the patterns of black and white
tracing memories of your fingers
sliding in patterns of their own
my feet tap and press
in dark rhythms underneath
where I used to sit in shadows
to watch yours
the memory of a moment
when your hands held those
of my daughter next to mine
sliding across the keys
is one I retrace often
in moments like these
when my feet and fingers echo
the patterns of yours
posted by MB at 9:17 AM
21 Comments:
Quand les doigts se promènent sur le clavier du piano ...c'est de la magie !
Comment des doigts de chair peuvent faire naître ces sons , cette musique d'un autre monde ?
Ah Jean, c'est une question a laquelle on n'pourrait jamais repondre!
Wonderful reminder of how objects can remind us of people with their simple yet powerful presence.
Touching. Thanks.
memories of days past when we observed things we now own...talents perhaps transported through genes; patterns of behavior once seen and now acted out; connections, even unconscious ones to our history.
lovely poem. now it joins the music, the images, and the instrument in bringing sweet memories of yesterday into today.
Very touching, MB, and beautifully conceived and written. I had a musical parent but rebelled against piano lessons .... reading this made me feel sad at the missed times together, but we had other memories and points of contact nonetheless.
Thank you for this.
Music can cross generations like nothing else...glad you got to share this way!
alan
the memories of patterns - patterns that we retrace -
thanks for the reminder
Very nice. I like the rhythms and repeated patterns.
This poem perfectly expresses what is a beautiful gift to pass on between generations, but bitter-sweet with memories, too, loving, joyful and tinged with sadness, nostalgia, all contained by the keys, the gentle playing of the keys...
This poem makes me want to know the piece of music you are playing. What sound stirs these memories, as much as the ivory keys themselves?
hi mb, so much character is found in the hands of those who love us and those we love. clearly this is a gift that is being handed down from each to each sensitive creative spirit in your family.
MB,
Reminded me of piano solos by Liz Story, for some reason, and the slant of late afternoon light coming through the windows to brighten faded and oft-played sheet music.
Very beautifully written!! Not quite like the piano lessons I took as a young lad. My hand is out of yer ear!! Thanks for coming by!!
I read your poem just hours after I had a new piano delivered! I've been studying piano nearly all my life. Pianos do collect memories; they do come back to haunt of comfort you when you play or simply observe them.
:) left a message here yesterday that apparently never posted. good thing pianos work better than cyberspace!! this made me so nostalgic. i learned classical piano from one of the most influential adults in my childhood life. i hadn't thought of her in a little while. she is the same woman who taught me to love nature and the outdoors. thank you for kindling thoughts of my beloved great aunt.
Very, very nice!
So poignant and sad, special memories of someone dear.
...wistful shadows of light and dark side by side like the keys of the piano and the music it makes.
side by side the lives of those we love and help us create our song. While reading your post I could hear the music of your words!
Do you know D. H. Lawrence's "Piano," "Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me"? A sort of relative to this one...
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