Sweet Dreams Aren't made Of This.
I wonder what a shrink would make of this!
This can't be happening
It has been decades
Nothing's changed
You still play like an angel
You still grip your instrument
firmly between your thighs
coaxing tenderness from those strings
with your nimble expert fingers
A familiar terrible longing overwhelms me
as you play
I can feel myself sinking again
My eye moves along
In slow motion I see
Inspector Foyle leading the viola section
Honeysuckle Weeks is sitting next to him
She looks flummoxed
Poor girl has lost her place
He strokes her ear with a sprig of mimosa
I feel betrayed by this
and then he resumes playing
That other face is familiar too
That can't be Derrick playing
virtuosic cadenzas on a harpsichord
covered in palm fronds and driftwood
Princess Michael is turning the pages
she waves to me and mouths
'Kincoppal reunion tomorrow'
I feel terribly elated at seeing her
and Derrick and then in an instant
feel upset that he has kept this from me
The music ends
the applause erupts
You take a bow
You look at me
and break into a smile
I gasp and quickly lower my eyes
I'm dancing on the rim of the moon
my damp hands clutch the fur coat
of a complete stranger
I wring it like a wet tea towel
She sits next to me
blissfully unaware
in the concert hall
I look up and there to my horror
you stand on stage morphed into Rowan Williams
enrobed in ecclesiastical vestments
a yellowing smile encased in Father Christmas whiskers
along with full eyebrow growth like
thick unruly privet hedges
I panic remembering that
I have left the eggs boiling on the stove
Rowan Williams is the Archbishop of Canterbury.
ReplyDeleteHis appearance has be known to drive small and big children into hiding into the cupboard under the stairs.
thanks for the ps, i did wonder.
ReplyDeleteyou're spot on with the reality of dreams, horrid little things are so much worse
Hi Rall,
ReplyDeleteHad to pop in and see what I've been up to! Is it me or the harpsichord that's covered with palm fronds and driftwood?! I like Foyle and Honeysuckle too and, along with Princess Michael, I couldn't be in better company. I hope the eggs were OK. Rowan Williams always looks as if he should be a hellfire and brimstone type of preacher!
Rall, this is terrific! So many amazing images, my favorite being "dancing on the rim of the moon". This piece encompassed such emotion and the strange flow of dreams. (ps - I LOVED Foyle's War!)
ReplyDeleteOh, my goodness! This is quite a poem! You did not dream of Derrick playing a harpsichord did you? Does he? This is quite an adventurous dream. How lovely to have musical dreams. I loved the line "dancing on the rim of the moon". I enjoyed the whole read. Thank you Rallentanda!
ReplyDeleteDerrick it was the harpsichord but I think you would look pretty good in a palm frond as well!
ReplyDeleteCynthia I thought none of the Americans would know Foyle's War..I love it too.Bought the series for the old fella for his birthday.Always buy him stuff that I want!
Linda my life has been saturated with music since I was seven years of age.As for dreaming
ReplyDeleteof Derrick playing the harpsichord.. well we can all dream of the dream that we wish to dream!
But yes, I'm American and I knew right away about Foyle (I watch too much BBC)! How startling to see a character I recognize appear in someone else's dream! I think your title is great. You convey feelings common to my dreams too -- this can't be happening, slow motion, panic that the stove hasn't been turned off.
ReplyDelete--Therese L. Broderick
This was delightful! I felt like a welcome voyeur to your dream. You have such a wonderful gift for turning a phrase, I esp liked
ReplyDelete"You still grip your instrument
firmly between your thighs
coaxing tenderness from those strings
with your nimble expert fingers"
I love the word "flummoxed" ~ it's a treat to see it used here. Great work!
I liked peeping into your dream!
ReplyDeleteskin dreams
I love the way you set the stage by showing the sheer physicality of music:
ReplyDeleteYou still grip your instrument
firmly between your thighs
coaxing tenderness from those strings
with your nimble expert fingers
The unlikely array of personages, the "harpsichord covered in palm fronds and driftwood..."
But my absolute favorite part is:
my damp hands clutch the fur coat
of a complete stranger
I wring it like a wet tea towel
She sits next to me
blissfully unaware
I love the way that, while being totally dreamish still captures something of the way we are with strangers in the dark concert hall.
Rall, very imaginative and clever. The dissociative qualities of the dream create a natural tension with the exquisite "orchestration" and expected uniformity of the musicians. There are many elements with Freudian overtones, including the ending. The poem suggests a connection between potency and musical skill, the soul, rather than the body as purveyor of passion.
ReplyDeleteSpot on David!Talent has always been the purveyor of passion in my case.
ReplyDeleteThat was my favourite part too Paul.It's actually true.I was so anxious once about a
ReplyDeletestudent of mine performing that I found myself clutching the fur coat of a woman seated next to me.She either didn't notice or was too well mannered to say anything.
Zouxzoux, with a lovely name like this you
ReplyDeleteare bound to end up in one of my poems.Thankyou for your charming comments.
Thankyou for your comments Therese. Glad you like the BBC as well!
ReplyDeleteRall & Derrick, separated at birth. He dovetails you, what a musical talented pair. I just love the way you undercut every scene...
ReplyDeleteThankyou Irene.
ReplyDeleteYes, we're Bill and Ben the Flower Pot Men!
nicely done...next dance on the rim of the moon?
ReplyDeleteDefinitely Wayne and looking forward to it!
ReplyDelete