Posted by malthus on August 27, 2004, at 22:48:54
In reply to poem...Lazarus, posted by malthus on August 27, 2004, at 21:11:21
When I was eleven my father bought me a guitar when I expressed interest in playing one. It was just an inexpensive one but fine for a beginner. I still remember the name of the store where I used to take lessons <<Reznicks> in Winston-Salem. Then my father hired a student from the School of the Arts named Paul who drove a gold <<Hornet>>. You're probably too young to remember this particular make of car but at the time I thought it was really cool. Paul was a great teacher; he wore these funny coke-bottle glass, the lenses were particularly thick. On one occasion we went to visit my aunt and uncle and my father insisted I bring my guitar-(I didn't want to because I was shy playing it for anyone except my mom, dad, and sister). When we got home and were unloading the car the guitar was the last to come out and I had leaned it upright inside the open door of the station wagon. My sister didn't know it was there and slammed the door on it and at the bottom it had a small dent. I was devastated! Dad said not to worry he would fix it up (he is very handy.) We went out the next day and he bought a big pink and yellow flower sticker that was thick and patched the hole.
When I was thirteen we moved to Pittsburgh and for my birthday my Dad bought me a beautiful Spanish rosewood classical guitar. I took lessons from Mrs. Lewis, our next door neighbor, who was about 75; she taught piano and guitar. I progressed to playing classical guitar, had recitals, and almost every night my father would say, "Play me something". His favorite piece was "Claire de Lune" by Debussy. THEN my parents got divorced and my Dad had this girlfriend who moved in with us, she was only 14 years older than me, and all Dad's attention went to her. I felt like I had fallen off a pedestal, I always wanted to please him and playing the guitar was one way to do that.
Sorry this is so long but this particular memory was the seed that sprouted the poem. At 17 I was diagnosed with anorexia and the guitar was the last thing on my mind. I couldn't stand his girlfriend, she was truly evil in my 17 year old eyes. I went to live with my mother, leaving the guitar at his house. At holidays my father would request that I play some for him, but I would use the excuse that I had stopped my lessons due to schoolwork, etc. When I went to college I deliberately left the guitar behind. About five years ago I went to visit him and decided to take it home. By that point I had forgotten a lot, but still knew how to play chords, but nothing like in my prime when I could play Segovia and the like.
It's sitting in a corner of my living room and I have to remember to dust it once in a while. My dad always asks me why I don't play it anymore but I never explain it because I can't believe he never "got it".
It's intriguing what you said about the muses. Spirits that watch over musicians. It wasn't a deliberate allusion though. While I am the "harp's mistress I am a neglectful one at best. Playing it reminds me too much of a dark time when I fell from grace and became sick.
malthus an ersatz mistress
poster:malthus
thread:383173
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20040729/msgs/383196.html