Arlene Corwin writes

Nobody Cares But You

(a poem about detachment)

It was a gig.* 

Fancy hotel, piano/song.

Song was “Yesterday” by Kern -

A song I’d learned; five decades worn. 

What could go wrong?

I knew the song from back to front,

Each bar, each note Jerome Kern wrote.

And then it happened in the bridge:**

Mind went blank! Memory rigid!

No matter how I searched and banged

I could not find the changes (chords),

Which key or what. Carrying on,

Not caring what the crowd

Was thinking, I remained the fool

On a piano stool until, at last,

The bumbling, stumbling passed

And I was back on track.

Key found, my vocal sound as good as ever,

I’d discovered never be stopped by obstacle or handicap;

Never let it sap nerve, verve or energies,

For I’m not there to serve or please;

I’m there to carry through a form of choice,

Give my jazz to some Corwin voice,

Let the moment be my norm

Never wishing for perfection 

Or to make a good impression,

The interpretation mine, just mine,

Anything I manage fine, just fine.

There’s no such thing as flawlessness. 

The folk out there more focussed 

On its own concerns and interests,

Concentrative powers, capability and prowess

Lasting no more than a minute, 

Public recall all but ‘perfect’.

Do your thing 

Not just for God and king

But for the joy of self and self-fulfilling.

Dare, share, always there. 

No one really cares but you.

 

*gig; musician’s jargon for job or engagement.

**bridge; the middle of a song, often called release.