Become a member of the clique;
Bel canto sound,
You want to sound good,
Learn to sound good.
Then as time goes by
The sound sounds boring, dry
And folks you’d hoped would like you die.
The styles change, the public too.
They seem like children now to you.
And what is left? A vacant cleft;
A sound that isn’t really true.
You do the honest thing.
You start to strip and uglify the voice.
You sell the Rolls, you sell the Royce.
The song itself becomes the choice –
The intellect, the heart a part.
You take the easy way, you say.
You’re much more simple when you play.
It starts to sound much more as you
Had always hoped to: like you do!
At least you’re singing with less stress.
The stress, instead, is in the art
And vanity’s a small, small part.
The pre-performance nerve’s caress:
It isn’t there. You’ve ceased to care.
What’s left is that you dare to dare.Where do you head? You’ve no idea.
Continuing to sing sans fear,
You simply sing, correcting all
The while.
You feel it’s false to smile.
That’s not to say there’s no smile there.
You’re lighter than you ever were.
You’re happy simply knowing where
You stand. The breach that once deterred
The song is healed. The once estranged
Is reaching for a newer range.
The only thing that’s left is change.
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music;
Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 