Dear Friends and Readers,
I am taking a break from my usual format this month to help someone in my family. May you enjoy this poem, a piece I wrote to celebrate the cellist Han-Na Chang. I saw this artist perform in San Francisco many years ago and was haunted by her ability to convey nuance and depth of emotion. It struck me then and does still, that chronological age in the arts is only one of the mysteries. Think of Mozart! In the end, we really don’t know much. But we can be struck to our core by beauty and grace. Has this ever happened to you?
Red Silk
For Han-Na Chang
He delivered his indictment before the lights were dim
to a wife of maybe forty years: this piece is mature passion
and she is too young.
Who was he to deny her?
She was the red silk of the hummingbird
with the same glinty power.
Her hair sliced black across creamy shoulders.
Her bow flew and commanded the strings.
Sixteen and wearing lipstick red,
caressing and coaxing the warm-wooded voice.
I heard the air catch in his throat
though he hid it in a cough.
His chair creaked, there were whispers.
He measured experience in leaden years,
But she had memories all her own.
Who pretends to fathom devotion?
Who dares to know how?
© Susan Troccolo
Photo credit: Colourbox
So much in this piece…judgement unfair sometimes…and I have felt that sting of unfair judgement due to gender or age….and such a tribute to a talent…a talent sometimes we cannot fathom at such a young age. Lovely Susie!
Thank you Donna. I haven’t written much poetry, but when I do it usually means I am viscerally struck by something of beauty or truth, at times horror. (I think of lifetimes, reincarnation, as one reason someone can advance in their art so quickly, but that is a personal viewpoint.) Thank goodness we create mostly for ourselves–we create, we write, because we must. I hope you were able to let someone else’s observation slide off your back.
Thank you for this lovely, thoughtful poem with its beautiful imagery and message. When it comes to talent, years are not the measurement, though they can enrich and deepen skills. Sometimes we find it hard to believe. It used to be the same with gender. I think of the famous audition when musicians played behind a screen so judges couldn’t tell whether they were men or women; that was what it took to finally allow a woman to play in the orchestra.
I’m glad she wore red silk.
An interesting story about the woman musician. Of course. What a distance we’ve traveled. I got in the car today with the radio turned to the classical station and the announcer had just finished saying “performed by Han-Na Chang.” I wonder how old she is now. I remember instances where age deepened a performer’s interpretation of a piece, but boy it is no guarantee is it? “Even donkeys get gray hairs”, so they say…lol. Marilyn, thank you for writing in.
If they still had this auditioning technique there would beeven more women playing in orchestra.
Susie–
I love your introduction about being “struck to the core by beauty
and grace” and the poem did certainly embody that. I feel that being struck
to the core by art is life at its richest and finest. And having memories “all her own”.
I hope we all do have such thoughts and that those memories count in our lives.
The line I still need to think about is: “Who pretends to fathom devotion?” When
I copied it ( to comment here) I wrote “Who pretends to fathom….emotion”. I am
thinking that was some kind of Freudian slip!
The poem made me really want to hear the music….thank you….
I’m glad you noticed “she had memories all her own.” As an artist, you would feel that. The piece she was playing was the Dvorak (I don’t have the right punctuation marks!) cello concerto if I remember right. You can google it and probably find a YouTube video of the Berlin Philharmonic doing it with Rostropovich. Challenging and dramatic piece. I love the comments people are making because it is clear that some art, be it music or poetry or a painting can touch us in ways we will never forget. Thank for your thoughts John, and thanks for–the interesting Freudian slip! -:))
Beautiful! I think age refines talent, much like sea glass in the ocean. But music conveys so much that words can’t. The interpretation becomes more personal and less literal.
What a beautiful analogy Tammy. I do think we are refined by life and pressure; a pearl would be another example. Thanks so much for your thoughts and your comment that “the interpretation becomes more personal and less literal.”
Beautiful poem. It always astounds me the way that some very young musicians manage to capture the essence of a powerful piece, when other, much older performers, may give a perfect technical performance that somehow misses the heart. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised, I still remember the vivid passion of my late teens and early twenties, everything felt so deeply, all passionate commitment and little patience.
Yes, yes yes! I love that. To have enough technical skill and yet that youthful, passionate energy is so powerful. I think that is what the man in front of me in the symphony hall didn’t think about–he just decided that she was too young to capture the heart. But she wasn’t. I’ve been thinking so much about art and energy lately. I was watching some country/bluegrass musicians play and everything they had was in their songs, and in their warmth and appreciation of their audience. You couldn’t help but love them because it was clear that they were giving everything they had with no ego, no pretense. I felt honored, like I was being given a huge gift of their life force.
Beautifully expressed, rich in detail.
Thank you so much Mary, and thanks for visiting. I hope you’ll stop by again and I’ll certainly pay you a visit. I like the photo of your pup…is that a Border Collie? I have one and know that they can have different looks…
The air catches in my throat to express the beauty of this poem in which age meets youth in the red silk of every red silk memory!
Wonderful Susan. Wow, your comment is poetry–I’m honored to have you visit.
When I go to concerts I sometimes has this eternal feeling that somehow connects me through the artist to the composer.. I think last time it happened was when I listened to Valentina Lisitsa performing Rachmaninoff .. wonderful poem..
This is exciting Bjorn, to have a new name to find and listen to: Valentina Lisitsa. Being Ukrainian, I am powerfully affected by the muse in that part of the world. The rest of it–not so much-:), but when I visited St. Petersburg and saw the Kirov Ballet and watched the deep love of the people for their performers, I understood that music and art is often an escape for some there. Thanks for stopping by Bjorn, I appreciate your comment.
who dares to know devotion…in this day and age, few, it seems….but when you do dare…and when you can…it is such a beautiful thing….
Thank you for saying that Brian. I share your feeling. Sometimes I want to utter that word and am afraid it will dilute my heart’s knowing. I had a writing teacher–my favorite–who used to say to us “we do not *say* heaven, even as we dwell there.” I used to spend hours thinking about that one! I think Billy Collins and Mary Oliver are the masters of that skill–they don’t tell us, but at the end of the poem, we have been transported there. Thanks for coming by, I will visit you too.
This is an interesting topic. One thinks of the musical prodigies who are born geniuses, and who play like Mozart at age three or four……..their gift is awe-inspiring. at any age but all the more so, when they play that way so young……..gifts beyond explanation. I think of that little blonde girl who looks like an angel- when she opens her mouth, the voice of a mature woman comes out….stunning everyone….regardless of her age, and in fact, because of it, her talent astounds……….you raised a very interesting topic with your poem.
Wow…. I love the poem and I found the comments very thoughtful which is the lifeblood of blogging… Michelle
I soo value the comments. They make the whole enterprise worthwhile. Although this space is a repository for my work and articles, the comments make it personal and help me determine if I will do another book.
she was the red silk of the hummingbird….such a moving line.
your poetry paints vivid beauty; thank you.
-Jennifer
Thank you Jenn. I just received your Zines in the mail and oh my they are beautiful. I wrote you back this morning and just walked across the street to put your letter in the mail-:)) So nice to communicate in all these ways!
Ah–this happens to me all the time–I sing and teach classical singing–and am lucky enough to live inn that world to the extent that I do–music is everything I think–Beautiful write!
Thank you so much Audrey–it is an honor that someone who knows music as you do likes the poem. And you are right, you are very lucky to live in that world.
I just wanted to add a note Audrey. I spent some time on your site and ended up listening to Per, the music teacher that is mentioned there. Long story short, I ordered his free lesson and may order more if it helps me with my voice. Do you have anything to say about him in particular. You must be in favor of his technique if his stuff is on your site, but I thought I’d check. Susie
Beautiful imagery ~ red silk connotes passion but also a shine, softness ~ and the musicality of a hummingbird. Prodigies are so intriguing and their gift is a mystery, making it all the more charming. The person who judged her seemed narrow minded. Wonderful poem.
Thank you Loredana. It’s so nice to have you visit again. I love the way you have stated it–that prodigies are a mystery. Yes. Hummingbirds are among my favorite birds for many reasons, but they can be highly competitive and aggressive too. Their aerial displays over the red trumpet flowers are a sight to see!
Everyone knows it is 99% perspiration and the 1% x factor which cannot be bought or taught.Most do not have it. The 1% is seen and felt instantly. It has not happened often to me but when I see it I fear for them because I have seen what happens to them and I have yet to write a poem about it. Thank you for this thought provoking poem.
Your comment reminds me of a woman I knew long ago who practiced piano four or five hours a day; technically she was good, but she never attained that 1% x factor. It was hard to witness it and of course, I could never speak of it, especially when pressed for an opinion. Great comment–it cannot be bought or taught. But when you hear it, there is no question.
I don’t know Han-Na Chang but I like music Dvořák {I have the right punctuation marks :)} created, especially his New World Symphony, it makes me be struck to my core as you say. But there are many more pieces and at the moment I’m listening to his Cello Concerto In B Minor, it speaks to me as well. Thanks for nudging me in that direction! 🙂
I love the final words of your poem asking “Who pretends to fathom devotion?” and I had to smile at John’s slip adding to it “Who pretends to fathom… emotion”, what a duet! 🙂
Very nice poem. I hope you have a nice break.
At last–my Czech friend can add the right punctuation for Dvorak! Thanks for reminding me of the cello concerto. And then there is Smetana–My Homeland, or is it My Fatherland? That piece of music never fails to move me. Do you listen to that piece? I love the Symphony for the New World also. Once Paddy and I were on a road trip to the Southwest and as we left the rainy gray of the western side of the Cascades and came out into the wide open spaces, we were playing that symphony, very loud on the stereo. It was perfect for the day, for the blue sky that went from horizon to horizon, for the animals grazing. I think I read that Dvorak lived in the United States and he must have seen the new world the way we saw our country that day. An open brave land of possibilities. Nice note you’ve played with John’s comment-:)) Thank you for visiting Petra.
I’d rather say “My Homeland” than “My Fatherland”, Susan. I have to admit that from those several pieces My Homeland consists of I could recognize just one, The Moldau (Vltava). You can hear the river singing in that composition and it always fills me with an uplifting feeling. Both Smetana and Dvořák were skilled and talented composers who will live in their compositions forever. I’m pleased to hear you like their music. 🙂
I’m really glad you clarified that for me Petra, and it does make more sense to say “My Homeland.” I can’t listen to the Moldau without tears and it makes me think I should go there. The first time we took a train across a long stretch of the newly named Soviet Union–I know it is no where near the same thing–I saw Russian Orthodox Churches with their onion domes in brilliant gold and I felt that this was something deep in my memory. I’m fascinated by memories like that….where do they come from?
Thank you Grace, you too. Isn’t this rain wonderful. I saw a little girl at the bus stop to day with flip flops and shorts on in the pouring rain and I thought–an Oregon child! I must be changing too, because I was loaded with energy today. Putting the garden to bed…
Beautiful poem Susie! Love this image full of youth and sensuality: “Her hair sliced black across creamy shoulders.” Please do share more of your poems, I think this is the first I read written by you.
On another subject, I hope all is well with taking care of your family member, I am too doing so here in Italy. My stepfather in a hospital in Tivoli hanging to life, I find myself glad to be here to cheer his heart and give him comfort.
Un grande abbraccio carissima!
Apprezzo che hai notato la parte femininile de la poema, la parte de sua essenza anche. Grazie. I’m glad you are with family cara. It must be hard. But you know what to do. Spero che ci vediamo presto.