A Poem about practice.

March 4, 2009 at 2:27 AM

This is just a little poem I wrote yesterday about how practicing has been going for me for the moment. Let's see who can guess what emotion that is?

Self-Imposed

I don't know if I can continue on my path,

which before seemed so clear, pristine and perfect, but

once embarked upon

is long, treacherous and full of

hoplessness.

Do I have it in me to continue,

to overcome, triumph and reach

my destination?

I think I do,

but

I'm lost in a sea of desperation,

exhaustion and frustration.

Is this self-imposed hell

worth my passion?

any words of encouragement?

From Stephen Brivati
Posted on March 4, 2009 at 5:53 AM

I breathed to play some notes,

A cadenza quite fantastic.

I breathed a little bit too much,

And bang went my elastic.

From Anne-Marie Proulx
Posted on March 6, 2009 at 11:29 PM

Hi Michael, sure I understand you and know how you feel and here's my poem with the same emotion! My first ever in english so if it can make you laugh...

Yesterday, first lesson since a long time at the conservatory

since normally at teacher's house because too in a hurry

as usual, listened to all these prodigies...

when my brain was steel tortured by maths, camestry and masochist physics injuries

when my soul was frozen by the shiverings of this intellectual jail

and my body weakened by numerous hours of awaked moronic complexity

as walking through the hall, remembered dearly that there was where I really belong

remembered this old dream that was still alive

not so long ago when the hell of "reality" was still out of me

and I was safe from all this complex chess game of adult world

everything comes to ask this

which jail is the best? The one of music, the one of sciences?

For sure, I would prefer to be a slave of music

even if it's tyranic

but raw talent is not fairly dispense

as I listen to some universitairy students

talking of their parties on the weekend

and their shoping evenings...

Then came my lesson,

after a hard exam session

and not much compassion

I'm an alian at home

had practiced during the poor little time I had

my fingers made me really mad

still frozen after an hour...

was it my hands or my heart that was frozen?

did my survival wedding with my calculator spoil it all?

did the bad husband killed my secret lover!

glad it was the winter

cold ennough so that my tears could freeze there

as I stared with glass eyes

Had it been the summer,

my unfrozen tears

would have drown my teacher...

Oh, I miss you my lover!

One day, I will switch jails!

Ok, it's ordinairy but for a french speaking... lol

Hope it helps to see that others feel the same too!

Good luck!

Anne-Marie

This entry has been archived and is no longer accepting comments.

A Poem about practice.

Subscribe

Laurie's Books