I Don’t Memorize Things

02. April 2011 · Comments Off · Categories: Poetry, Videos

… really! I hate memorization. I know my solos when I’m playing them, and if the wind blew the music off the stand I could —I should!— continue. But I still don’t want to be told I have to play by memory. I blame my brain. But who knows? Maybe I’m just lazy. Probably so.

T, blogger at Notes of an Anesthesioboist, brought a video to my attention. This little guy likes to memorize. He recites “Litany” by Billy Collins. I love Billy Collins. I also love this little boy! Wow!

Gee, he even gets the —es in there! :-)

And thank you, T, for reminding me that this is National Poetry Month!

Ah Reeds

15. January 2011 · 1 comment · Categories: Poetry

In response to what a friend (hi Cameron!) wrote:

ing it! (slightly abbreviated tune):

The Impossible Reed (sung to Impossible Dream)

To find
the impossible reed
The one
that works all of the time
The reed
that makes playing so easy
The sort
that’s incredibly fine.

This is my quest ‐
to locate that reed!
No matter how costly
(I’ll deal with the greed),
and to purchase that reed
and be thrilled at the sight;
It’s impossible, sure
but I dream of that reed
through each day and each night …

When I’m Sixty-Four

19. November 2010 · Comments Off · Categories: Birthdays!, Poetry

Ten years to reach the Beatle’s song
no longer seems so very long —
It seems as years keep disappearing
it’s not as bad as I was fearing
I’ve now reached milestone fifty-four;
I’ll see you ’round for many more!

Hmm …?

19. November 2010 · 8 comments · Categories: Birthdays!, Poetry

Seems
to me
at 53
I
was young and free.

But
no more
now 54
I think
I’m just a bore!

;-)

(I doubt I’ll put up any more goofy poetry … but you never know! This IS how I handle being another year older, after all.)

54

19. November 2010 · Comments Off · Categories: Birthdays!, Poetry

Inside I feel the same as yesterday
the insecurities will rage, and fears
that I had dreamed would disappear still play
their dirty tricks (although I don’t shed tears
the way I would have in my younger days).
Give thanks for lessons learned! For all the years
have taught me multitudes of clever ways
to turn from nervousness and switch the gears.

No sadness here, no time for that, no more!
I’m proud to say I’ve just turned fifty four!

Lights Out!

27. March 2010 · Comments Off · Categories: News, Poetry

It would be really interesting to schedule some sort of chamber concert tonight in a location that could handle the darkness. Would people listen differently if they couldn’t see? I’m certain so. Hmmm. Maybe I should have my oboe out and ready to play before I turn out the lights, and then just spend time on excerpts. Or even scales. I will, of course, be home alone. No one here to hear me but me.

That sounds like a country western song … and please excuse the gender change, but I hear a man’s voice in this one:

Oh, the Oboe Woes

No one in the house to even hear me
I’m sittin’ in the darkness all alone
They tell me that a man’s home is his castle
But I’m a’thinkin’ it’s not quite a home.
I still remember when she up and left me
All because I pulled out one sharp knife
You’d think she woulda known I played the oboe
Now here I sit, alone, without a life.

Cheers!

The Garden Of Love

20. March 2010 · Comments Off · Categories: Oboe, Poetry, Videos

I first heard this work with Bart Schneeman, on his CD “It Takes Two”. Some of you will enjoy this. Some will not. Go figure. That’s how music works, right? Especially when it’s for oboe and boombox! :-)

Happy Birthday, William Carlos Williams

17. September 2009 · 1 comment · Categories: Birthdays!, Poetry

My somewhat pathetic tribute to yours:

so much depends
upon
some good oboe
cane
shaped and water
soaked
beside the sharp
knives

Easter Wings

12. April 2009 · Comments Off · Categories: Poetry

by George Herbert


Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store,

        Though foolishly he lost the same,

              Decaying more and more,

                      Till he became

                        Most poore:



                        With Thee

                      O let me rise,

              As larks, harmoniously,

        And sing this day Thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.



My tender age in sorrow did beginne;

  And still with sicknesses and shame

        Thou didst so punish sinne,

                  That I became

                   Most thinne.



                    With Thee

                Let me combine,

      And feel this day Thy victorie;

    For, if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

Poem for Today

07. April 2009 · Comments Off · Categories: Poetry

Hate the cane.
Love the rain.

Hate the cough.
Ticks me off.

Hurt my back
from cough attack.

Need a nap.
Feel like ….

Oh. Never. Mind. (Apologies to all.)

Having Fun

03. January 2008 · Comments Off · Categories: Links, Listen, Poetry, Videos

Because I can …

Ah, look at all the lonely oboes.
Ah, look at all the lonely oboes.

Poor little oboes sitting around in their cases not playing a note
What is their hope?
Waiting and wishing, thinking the players just might get to work on a reed
That’s what they need

All the lonely oboes
They sit alone and wait
All the lonely oboes
No reeds appear their fate.

Sing along with this. ;-)

Sorry. Just couldn’t resist. Or at least I didn’t resist. Or I don’t care. Or something like that.

Oboe Poetry

27. October 2007 · Comments Off · Categories: Links, Poetry

Or maybe it’s called obetry when it’s oboe poetry?

Anyway, you can read In the Beginning or you could just order the entire chapbook of poetry by Margaret Christie, called The Oboist’s Bedside Book. It’s from the UK, so I’m not sure how difficult it will be to get it sent elsewhere. (Nor how much it costs.)

I know I’d like a copy, though!

What do you Play? Lexus or Loree?

03. August 2007 · Comments Off · Categories: Poetry, Ramble

So … wanna go to a Lexus concert or would you rather go to one that features instruments? (For those of you who don’t know, Loree is a popular make of oboe. I actually play on Marigaux oboes, but I do enjoy being different!)

What do you play?
Lexus?
Loree?
Or maybe you’re cheap
and play an old Jeep?

Not Because I Expect You To Major In Music + Poem

23. April 2007 · 3 comments · Categories: imported, Poetry

Someone landed here doing a search on the above.

So … well … okay. Why not?

A 20 minute pretty darn lame poem for you—

It’s not that I expect each one to make
the oboe his career. It’s not that I
would tell a student to pursue and take
the path I chose. I won’t cajole and cry,
I won’t manipulate. I cannot shove
you into busy weekends and low pay
although this truly is the life I love.
I must confess it’s fun to say I play
and work, doing the two at once. Can you
proclaim the same? But don’t think I would force
someone to major in the field —it’s true
we also need an audience, of course!

PEM 4/23/07

Yes, I’ll stick to my day night whenever job. :-)

Moving on …
Someone else searched on “normal life of an oboe reed”. Hmmm. What to say? The normal life of an oboe reed is … wake up, take a little water bath, climb into oboe, get a bit of a workout, go back into reed case, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Two More RBPs*

11. February 2007 · Comments Off · Categories: imported, Poetry

REEDSALOT
(done in jest, of course … I really do like flute players!)

A law was made a distant moon ago here—
An oboe player never will be shot.
And there’s a legal limit to the flute here.
In Reedsalot.

Free oboe reeds to every single player
who plays the oboe, I say “Heck, why not?”
And all the flutists have to be real ugly
in Reedsalot.

Reedsalot!
Reedsalot!
Free oboe reeds for everyone.
Reedsa lot!
Reedsalot!
It surely is the best of fun.

So if you want to be a rotten person
choose flute to play (although you might get shot),
But better far, tis true
the oboe choice for you
for happ’ly ever aftering right here
in Reedsalot.

PEM 2/11/07

… and because I can’t for the life of me guess Lancelot’s first note in “If Ever I Would Leave You” (how he manages I don’t know!)

If Ever I Could Find It

If ever I could find it—
the pitch to sing this song.
I would be so happy,
and I’d sing along.
But no I can’t find it—
it’s a myst’ry to me,
and so I’ll flounder sadly.
Poor me.

If ever I could find it—
you’d probably be flustered.
Bet you’d miss your entrance
and that would be bad.
And so I won’t find it—
I’m just thinking of you.
I know it is the right thing
to do.

And could I sing it
if the trumpets blared it out?
Or would I still be scared and cry?
Without a doubt!

I guess I’ll stick to oboe.
I know it will be better.
Knowing how I sing
you are surely relieved!
Or are you disgusted?
Does my playing appall?
I guess I shouldn’t be here
at all.

PEM 2/11/07

*RBPs = Really Bad Poems

… so there you go. A bit ‘o Camelot right there on your screen.

Or not.
—–

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