08.02.07
Capricious Rhapsody
Capricious Rhapsody
in the style of twisted Pamuk
Play philosophically and with much jocularity.
I am a piano,
an upright piano.
I am not grand.
An endangered few do
prefer to be upright,
rather than grand.
Many uprights there may be,
But not because they choose to be.
Many grands there are as well,
Of their fame people will tell.
Of the uprights be wary.
Some can be hypocrites, trust me.
Of the showy grands be watchful,
Babies and Six-footers alike are powerful.
I, however
Discriminate neither.
For a piano upright or grand is whole,
Only when it has a soul.
With a soul the grand be upright,
And the upright shall be grand.
I am a piano,
And I have a soul.
You shall know,
My story as a whole.
“Wood and metal scraps thou art,
And unto wood and metal scraps
shalt thou return,” they say.
But the how-I-got-my-soul part,
Let me narrate, I pray.
I am a piano.
But I was just an ordinary piano.
I had dreams, too.
Dreams like Richters, Ashkenazys,
Cliburns, and Argerich, too.
What sort of piano wouldn’t want to
be under their touch?
Not just to listen, sit down, and watch.
I wanted to feel them tickle my ivory fancies,
And realize my ebony fantasies.
Gould and Helfgott would have amused me.
Though I’m not saying they’re
in the same category.
But this was not my destiny,
Something else befell me.
A kind girl took me home and made me hers.
Makes me go weak in the hammers!
To me, she pours out her emotions,
From laughter to lamentations.
She spends hours with me,
And I know she loves me.
To be loved,
To be loved!
That’s how a piano gets a soul,
That’s how I became whole.
I am a piano.
Anything else you need to know?
