Doctor: “What can you expect?
You’re eighty-two! Accept it!
Vocal cords, no longer tighten.
Yours will never close again.”
Goodness knows, boy, do I know it!
Unpredictable, quixotic.
Coming, going, throwing
Intonation out the window.
Eighty-two, all soon to be
An eighty- three.
Must Corwin flee because of age?
Flee the stage because of age?
Damn, no!
Today, tomorrow,
She says no to going!
Sings her heart out – when she can.
Songs fantastic; jazzy, cool,
Breaking rule harmonic
For the music and the fun of it.
But voice, alas, hard to control,
Its life so unconnected to the whole.
Bitch pitch, stich with crooked seam;
Bad, sad, how she sorely wants to scream.
She doesn’t. Giving out the gifts from heaven,
Hearing flaws – now a given.
Focusing
on now and only…
Singing, playing joyfully;
Doing when and how,
She crowns the gig and takes a bow.
Gifted But Out Of Tune 10.7.2017
Vaguely About Music II; Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Aging;
Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 