Poetics: Going Under

 

Copyright: James Rainsford, Used with Permission

Going Under

When they got the news
that his body was found
at the foot of Silver Falls
some would not believe it--
and those who took it in
knew it was accidental,
his canvas shoes incapable
of holding the soppy trail,
his mind on a hundred good
challenges that loosened
his attention, his focus
perhaps honing in below
on one vibrant leaf
  colored too early
trying to break free
from the power
that pushed it
under and then
under again.
                     MLydiaM ~ March 2012


Written for Poetics-Patterns, Pictures and Poems at dVerse Poets. Thank you to James Rainsford for this thoughtful prompt using his gorgeous photography.

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On music and trains, masters and tears

Music lesson by Izabella Pavlushko


In the Key of Dr. C

I could not then, still cannot, read
the music that lives in my soul -
but Dr. C knew that ears
note and remember strains
without straining - and thus he
taught Music Appreciation at the
hilltop university overlooking a
river-divided city, allowing us to
flow freely from his directing.
We divided into eye-folk and
ear-folk when the time came
to be tested.

Eye-folk read and wrote notes;
ear-folk listened to translate
Dr. C's piano test, knowing strains
after training - and thus I
watched him play then pause,
catching his glance, and thought:
There could not be a more
dedicated man; he is my favorite
teacher, this is my favorite class.
My score of 'A' was proof more of
his excellence than of my own
to be tested.

I did then, still do now, mourn
the music that died in his soul -
that translated into despair in the
heart of that river-divided city at
its track-divided center, where
a vibrant but seedy line of casinos
and pawn shops played on
lust, greed, and loss.
In that din of neon and noise came
an approaching train's suite refrain,
the last music Dr. C heard.
He understood the notes, was ready
to be tested.

                                       MLydiaM

This poem is for the prompt about TRAINS at dVerse Poetics, a beautifully written — and beautifully sung — prompt by Claudia. Her performing The City of New Orleans turned on a bittersweet memory of mine that combines music and trains......

A little about Dr. John Carrico below (extracted from the bio of his brother, Bill Carrico). It saddens me that this was all I could find while searching for information about him. His son, also named John, is an immigration attorney in Las Vegas; an online photo looks so much like I remember Dr. C when he was my Music Appreciation professor.

Dr. John Carrico (1918-1978) directed university bands in Texas and Nevada until his death. He was an internationally known jazz movement authority who founded the Reno International Jazz Festival. In 1975, while attending the Nancy Jazz Festival in France, John became the first American ever elected to the board of directors for the 26-nation International Jazz Federation.

The Reno Jazz Festival founded by Dr. Carrico will celebrate its 50th year in 2012. Its 2011 website is here.

First held in 1962, the Reno Jazz Festival has built up a well-earned reputation as one of the best musical events anywhere. Growing in size and stature over the years, the Reno Jazz Festival ranks as one of the largest and most vibrant of its kind in the U.S., attracting more than 10,000 participants and guests every year. Hosted by the University of Nevada, Reno, the festival welcomes some of the best jazz students, musicians and music teachers in the US to perform at this popular festival, drawing hundreds of school bands (junior high through college) from California, Nevada, Oregon, Idaho and Washington. A number of concerts, shows and workshops take place during the festival and the event closes on the final day with the weekend's finale: the Festival Showcase and Awards Ceremony. [Source: Reno Jazz Festival Facts]

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In Memorium: Tommy.......be ready, heart, for parting

Stages

~by Hermann Hesse

As every flower fades and as all youth

Departs, so life at every stage,

So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,

Blooms in its day and may not last forever.

Since life may summon us at every age

Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,

Be ready bravely and without remorse

To find new light that old ties cannot give.

In all beginnings dwells a magic force

For guarding us and helping us to live.

Serenely let us move to distant places

And let no sentiments of home detain us.

The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us

But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.

If we accept a home of our own making,

Familiar habit makes for indolence.

We must prepare for parting and leave-taking

Or else remain the slaves of permanence.

Even the hour of our death may send

Us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,

And life may summon us to newer races.

So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.

Tommy died on May 5, the day I posted my shots of a double rainbow. I have been in a place of inner silence since learning on May 13 that he is gone.

He was the boy I wrote about having fought over with a girl on the schoolyard in third grade. Later that year he was injured during recess and fled into the school bleeding (was he crying? I don't think so). I loved him so that I followed him and, seeing drops of his blood in a trail along the hallway, I yanked paper towels from the girls bathroom and began wiping up his blood from the old-growth hardwood floor. A teacher, looking quite puzzled and repulsed, demanded that I stop.

We were friends for so long. The summer after graduating high school we had our first and only date. It was a drive up to Lake Tahoe and we may have had a meal.....I don't remember. What I do remember is holding his hand as he drove and talking about who we each had become since grammar school. I think we each had that 18-year-old sensation that time was passing quickly now and we felt a need to tidy up loose ends, make sense of youth, take the day to dream of our futures. The friend vibe between us, so firmly established, precluded romance from blooming. As I paused to think about that last sentence my eyes filled with tears because there are no regrets--only gratitude--that we trusted in the beauty of our friendship. 

The photo here is us at our 20th high school reunion, twenty years ago. His wife took the shot with their young ones nearby. She and I exchanged Christmas cards for some years afterward, but in the days before email and online social networking it was easy to simply drift apart from friends. We never thought it was farewell.......until it suddenly was.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-TALK (8255)

selected translation of Hesse poem from this site

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