truth in living | Arlene Corwin Poetry

Kväll*

Michel:

Backstage at a Lerum concert.

Queue is long –

Ten, twenty strong;

All longing for a word,

A signed record;

This little man

With hands of gold –

Maybe thirty-one years old

Sits smoking,

Chatting, greeting, joking:

Just plain nice.

The press is there; the fans are there;

Musicians to a man are there

Craning necks,

Straining to see

This king of musicality,

Like idolizing suitors.

By the time he heads the queue

He’s shy –

But not a tick goes by

When he croaks “Thank you,”

Though a hollow,

Shallow, marshey-mallow

Phrase comes out.

This clever, skillful, practiced player –

Sharp, fine-fingered Tatum sayer

Stammers as he almost bows

(One could say cows)

-Excuse me, I’m a so-called jazz pianist.”

As if living was his lie.

Vaguely About Music; Special People Special Occasions;(Michel Petrucciani concert)

Arlene Corwin

*pronounced kvell: it means evening in Swedish.

Arlene Corwin Poetry