[John Isbell]

I too have a cling-on koala, so I know whereof you speak!
Nice song music here as always.

Cheers,
John

[John Isbell]

Here's that poem you requested.

Cheers,
John


Strings

I’ve got no strings, I told myself, and all
the angels smiled. It’s only natural
to want to be a real boy. On the stage,
I pratfell, sang my chorus. Turned the page.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAykOz1gWi4

[Martin Elster]

Clash

At the Annual Day of Percussion
the crash cymbal player was rushin’.
**He felt very proud
**as he played way too loud,
unaware that his wife sat there blushin’.

[Martin Elster]

Math in Music

The cymbal player counted so many bars,
he could have journeyed all the way to Mars
before he stepped up to the music stand,
grabbed one leather strap with his right hand
and the other with his left. He separated
the plates at just the proper angle, waited
a few more measures, glanced at the baton,
then brought them forcefully together on
the second half note of a 3/2 measure.
The ringing clang gave the conductor pleasure.
Although the vibrant overtones blended in
with the ensemble, the magnificent din
annoyed the violins. They went on playing,
yet somewhere deep inside they all were praying
there wouldn’t be another forte crash.
(Some instrumentalists forever clash.)
They should have praised the man for counting right.
Were he to come in wrong, even a slight
bit early or late — It’s all a matter of math.
If he lost count, he would incur the wrath
of the maestro. Were the fellow to ignore
the beat completely, he’d be out the door!
While the fidgety fiddlers would surely think it swell,
music without meter is unwell.

(Appeared in THEMA.)

[Allen Tice]

Martin, I did violin until I was twelve and quit because of a dispiriting teacher. I would never complain, however, even ever so little, really, not the least, no, really, no! ‘bout a cymbal clash on the ‘zact instant, delivered with pin-point timing. You’ve got us g-string touchers so wrong. I forgive you. You can’t know what it’s like to do third position sans vibrato unless, unless—oh well, timing is all.

I actually Like your poem—hear the high e-string mosquito whistle far away? What a looker! then two open strings and the bow frog shaking with pressure. Sonata in A.

Banjo, kazoo, shawm, now there’s a few words, Fliss, that I relish. Cimbalom is one more. Nice imagery. Enjoyed a great deal. Do more like that. Please.

I have a thing called Tanglewood that’s in my current book on Amazon, which responds to the experience of outdoor music at several US venues. To be posted when I get back from buying groceries.


mmmnnTanglewood

mmnn Is there music here?
Now the children in afternoon
Step the meadow. Courtly measures
mmnn Salute twilight.

mmnn After setting sun,
Gossips hush to muted hobnob.
Hoots and squeaks reverberate
mmnn Soft through heaven.

mmnnCloudlets ride above.
nHow the cimbalom resolves!
nArtists steady into silence.
mmnn Hundreds listen.

mmnn Ennui scampers out.
Closing rhythms laud the hillsides.
Time returns. Warm night’s hearers
mmnn Hurrah, and exit.

PS: I’ve made a post publication change in line 2, from “of” to “in”. This will have to be scribbled in by hand by me in my stack of physical copies, by interested buyers, and altered in any republication.

[F.F. Teague]

Thanks, Allen, for enjoying those words. I hadn't heard of 'cimbalom'; I've just popped to Wikipedia to read up about it. I'll have to see whether I can come up with a cimbalom poem. In the meantime, I have your 'Tanglewood' to enjoy; it's very well worded and elegantly presented, I think. I might have to buy your book sometime

- - -
Martin, great stuff. I do like a limerick! And 'Math in Music' rings a bell, so to speak, from my own days of playing in an orchestra. I can't remember whether I've mentioned the time in the university wind band when a percussionist skipped a beat and we all stopped playing. The piece was meant to end spectacularly, with a flourish, but we all tailed off in confusion. It was quite funny, though

- - -
John, thanks for appreciating the curtain koalas; I'm glad you're able to empathise! And 'Strings' is a great pocket poem. I think I recognise it from somewhere, the MS maybe?


Here's a Happenstance number, the one I put together for May Day. Some members of the group were up very early this morning to see in the dawn at the top of Cleeve Hill. Rain was scheduled, but I'm sure they had a good time anyway. The poem is performed in a broad Gloucestershire accent


Spring Song

'Twas coal black, the sky, over valley and hill,
trees, grasses, shrubs shaking in northerly chill,
birds glad to keep shelter in feathery beds,
and leaf buds contented to hide their green heads.

Then sudden, the wind died, all's quiet as a tomb,
'til bells jingled merrily out through the gloom,
and twilight illumined the source of this sound,
the Happenstance Border folk, dancing a round.

High summit, their staging, close by to the clouds,
which draped Gloucester county in purple pink shrouds,
and while the folk flurried, away swept the dawn,
as slowly the sun rose to welcome the morn.

And then, the whole shireland lay gleaming in gold,
from rivers to fields to the top of the wold,
the fish in the Isbourne, the pigs in their sty,
the flecked running rabbits, the larks pealing high.

Jack saw and smiled widely within his grand bower,
and all of his hawthorns burst into full flower,
some white, others crimson, delightful display,
to celebrate spring on the first day of May.

- - -
<-- Green Man

[Martin Elster]

Allen, your poem is really nice. I enjoyed it. In the HSO, some of the fiddle players did actually get riled sometimes — flustered even — when the percussion section played loudly. It’s the conductor’s decision, of course, how loudly or softly each instrument needs to be. It’s their job to achieve the right balance. And if the composer wants it loud, other members of the orchestra should get over it! Actually, the stage hands started putting up sound shields in between us and the French horns and trumpets. But in the last few years, they abandoned that idea, since those shields took up too much space.

During rehearsals of Ottorino Respighi’s The Pines of Rome, I was playing the Tam-Tam (gong) (as well as the glockenspiel). The Tam-Tam is prominent near the end of the piece. The second trumpet player asked me to play less loudly because she was pregnant and didn’t want the gong noise to rattle or disturb her fetus. That’s quite understandable, so I toned it down in the performances. I don’t know if Respighi would have liked it, but he’s under the ground.

Another time (many moons ago), during the first rehearsal of a program, the whole percussion section played a unison crash in a piece by (if I remember) Ralph Vaughn Williams. We played it so together that I smiled. Later, one of the female violinists got really angry at me (for smiling). She assumed that I smiled because the crash was so loud. I explained to her that it was because I was amazed about how precisely together we were on the first try. She really was irate! But I know that you, Allen, would never have complained.

It’s nice that you played violin, and I’m glad you imagined the g, d, a, and e strings vibrating.

Fliss, I like the imagery in your Spring Song.