They’re All Agreed

       They’re All Agreed

They’re all agreed –

It’s very, very quiet there.

Up or out or maybe in

A space so hidden

That it is a twin

To so-called outer space

Where it is very, very quiet

In the place where

It is all created:

All the synchronistic sequences

That take the meaning

Out of chaos.

I read that they ‘re all agreed,

And I’m afraid

A little,

Which just shows that I’m not ready.

They’re All Agreed 6.13.2010 Revelations Big & Small; To The Child Mystic; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Saving Me From Myself

Saving Me From Myself

I pray for this, I pray for that

And wonder why I never get

Or haven’t got

The goals I set.

Suddenly in one great burst

One leap,

Gone is the thirst

And I feel cheap,

See the task before my eyes –

It’s just to bask, not analyze.

 

I’m getting everything I need,

The rest irrelevant indeed,

And full of greed and ignorance,

Requests of inborn arrogance,

Destructive if un-timed.

 

Instead I should be thanking It

For waiting until I’ve been primed

For It, and saving me

From everything

Unscheduled my self.

Saving Me From Myself 5.14.2000 Pure Nakedness; To The Child Mystic; Arlene Corwin

I’ll Never Be A Virtuoso

           I’ll Never Be A Virtuoso

(Notes from a Piano Playing/Singer/Poet)

I’ll never be a virtuoso.

Sure as I’m an expert on

My name, my palm – I know it.

So I ponder as I listen to

Michel Petrucciani on piano,

Joe Pass on guitar,

Wayne Shorter on the tenor –

Am I any less an artist sans finesse

If runs, uneven, coarse run out into the sand?

Of course not.

Never to become a virtuoso is my lot.

 

But I’ve a lot that’s going for me:

Tempos, energy,

Out-coming spontaneity,

Ongoing creativity, ingoing spirit,

And an awfully cheerful personality;

Gifts and graces I don’t even know about,

Waiting to come out – or out.

 

Noel Coward wrote: ‘the talent to amuse’….

Perhaps I use that talent,

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

 

My notes are high while not the highest,

Vocabulary not extensive,

Not the most imaginative;

IQ slightly more superior than Pooh’s:

Who cares?

(That’s not a question but an exclamation).

Never virtuoso, I shall be the one

Who wears her brain upon her sleeve,

Her heart her slave.

 

Somewhat below, above so-so,

I know I’ll never be a virtuoso.

I can live with that.

I’ll Never Be A Virtuoso 5.21.2014 Vaguely About Music II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Corwin

I Can Write But I Can’t Speak

 

I can write but I can’t speak.

It’s as if God says,

“You have a message. Write the words.

I’ll give written words a glaze,

But eloquence that can be heard’s

Off limits, for I slow you down

For honesty, integrity:

To kill the vanity you’ve sown.

I’ll make you stumble, clumsy, dumb,

Slow-thinking, witless,

Sounding somewhat girlish.

I’ve obscured your verbal self

So that you can’t impress.

I keep you in the house

So you must guess

What is and what is not success.

 

Left there to stammer,

Lose my language;

Syntax, grammar

In a sandwich

Of aphasic doublethink,

The phrases weak,

Technique oblique,

My karma manifestly leaking,

Left to do my dharmic seeking,

(Swim or sink)

Through scribbled, scratched and silent ink.

I Can Write But I Can’t Speak 2.11.2003A Sense Of The Ridiculous; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Pure Nakedness;Arlene Corwin

 

 

Brain, Give Me The Answers

       Brain, Give Me The Answers

Does this sound too much like prayer?

A little red-faced,

Weakness in my psyche.

Embarrassed ‘cause it’s not like me,

One feels the hypocrite:

I, who stake

My life on ‘God, who makes not one mistake’,

And here I sit,

Baby-ish,

Asking to change destiny –

At least push it my way.

Shame, shame on me!

 

I’ve got to wait –

Just like all others.

Meditate,

Reject my druthers,

Concentrate.

(I’m poor at that).

Be grateful for the goods I’ve got

(and that includes MyQ

and its capacities))

 

Nonetheless, addressing you,

Dear self so true,

We have a pact

(And that’s a fact)

So if you will cooperate,

I’ll wait

Until who knows, the whimsicality of fate

Is ripe: propitious, and/or generous

And brain-wise,

Advantageous.

 

Brain, Give Me The Answers 8.24.2017

Pure Nakedness; I Is Always You Is We; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

The Twenty-One Inch Waistline

Sometimes I get the silliest memories.

The Twenty-One Inch Waistline

 When I was young –

As yet unsung,

I yearned, no, burned

To be like she

Who had a waistline twenty-three:

I was twenty-four.

Hungered voluntarily.

Now they’d call it self-starvation,

Anorexia;

I soon set sights on twenty-one.

There was envy,

There was vanity.

Oh, if I could only be

Like her.

But I remained a twenty-four.

It wasn’t in my nature

To be less or more. 

These days I’m fine

With my twenty-four/five inch waistline.

 

Twenty-One Inch Waistline 11.22.2017

Circling Round Vanities I; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

 

Always In Preparation #2

           Always In Preparation #2

(a rather long simplification)

 

Always in preparation for an interview:

What will I answer? Never know.

– What do I like? do things I do, the way I do?

– Write poetry, play jazz, do yoga?

Body/mind my mental window in my mental interview:

And I must justify it all.

Some germ, some theme begins the whole:

The technical; word hurdles

When I write or sing;

All challenging,

Performing, writing or just doing.

 

T’ween two covers it’s official;

Everything grist-for-the-mill,

I’ll likely publish ‘til I’m still.

No special motive winks or flirts,

No motive hides behind my skirts –

 

My ears hear musically,

It all comes naturally, substance counting most;

Not tricks, not formulae, cliché –

If there’s a Corwin idiom

It’s in the DNA.

I work out tunes, -out poetry, -out bodily.

The mind works out spontaneously,

I (wherever I is to be found) give in, give form,

Substance from-and-in the frame.

 

In short, I paint myself into a box

And creep around

Until some [final] satisfaction binds.

A futile paradox:

To clarify and satisfy

The interview,

But there am I,

Always in preparation.

 Always In Preparation 7.6.2014

Pure Nakedness; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;revised 11.21.2017

Arlene Corwin

 

 

I Am So Grateful [Anybody Reads this Stuff]

I Am So Grateful [Anybody Reads This Stuff]

 I am so grateful anybody reads this stuff.

Exasperated that most others don’t.

And even with an inner miff

I carry on, pushed by an inner drift,

(some would add an inner gift)

Ambition not my motivation.

 

A brainstorm popping from wherever popping up pops up from.

You will recall it’s happened to you all;

You know, thoughts over which you’d no control.

And yet you thought them, acted out on

Drives beyond what’s called

Free will. 

 

So, am I grateful or detached?

Dispassionate, disinterested, crosshatched?

Standing alone from strength

Yet obstinate from weakness’ lack of confidence.

I’m sure of this:  the length

Of life that’s left to me,

I will persist in poetry.

(One must

When it lies in the guts)

Tampering with syntax, spelling, yummy slang,

Choice aesthetics in good taste/

Choices crappy and a waste;

Writing with a rhythmic sense,

Caring very much for tense,

But not for meters recherché;

I, utmost mystic and most earthy:

Quelle dichotomy!

Hypocrisy?  No, contrast only!

 I am grateful for and to the one

That read Ms Corwin.

 

I Am So Grateful 11.14.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; I Is Always We Is You; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Eighty-Third

Tomorrow is the day and I decided to  explore what I feel about it.

                  An Eighty-Third

Ego there, but something’s going;

Some things gone –

Both nice and nice’s antonym.

Prefix Nov- linguistics’ whim –

What does it stand for?

One cares less and dares much more.

Nov means nine but mine’s eleven:

8th November, month eleven.

November eighth; November, Nover.

Arlene Faith “is now in clover”*.

Still, one has reached an eighty-three, (one being me)

We’ll see

What life has left at all…

Life being so irrational.

Et al.

*written by my 6th grade teacher Mr Martin when I graduated from public school

 An Eighty-Third 11.8.2017

Birthday Book; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Nover Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

Gifted But Out Of Tune

 

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

 

 

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