« You Choose: Two Versions of “Autumn Song” [by W. H. Auden] | Main | Greg McBride: Pick of the Week [ed. Terence Winch] »
When pianos are not played,
they become very sad,
they collect silent notes.
Unplayed music floats –
invisible dust of overtones.
The dead are waiting expectantly:
so many keys – 88 – all untouched.
The day of silent music
sheds the signature of uncaptured Time.
(“What are you practicing now?”
my mother asks me quietly.
Her eyebrows raised. I shrug.)
As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.
Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.
Your Information
(Name and email address are required. Email address will not be displayed with the comment.)
Radio
I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark
from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman
A creative communications, branding, and resources consultancy founded by Victoria C. Rowan
Standing in my living room
Is a mahogany Knabe upright
Upon it's massive weight
Display 88 ivory keys
Born yellow over 80+ years of time
Three foot pedals sulking for lack of stimuli
Wherefrom beautiful music once emanated
Mother and sis were talented pianists
I make with it a cacophony of sounds
And wipe off settled dust
With Pledge furniture polish
Years ago i pledged allegiance to sports
Over learning to play piano
I made a mistake
Posted by: Joel Weiner | October 16, 2021 at 07:38 AM
I am reading this sitting on the couch next to a rarely played piano and the silent notes are deafening
Posted by: Barbara Huntington | October 16, 2021 at 09:55 AM
Thank you Lera Auerbach for all of your gifted poems
From them i gleam and abstract creative ideas
Lifting words which become personal attempts
To poeticize as a developing poetaster
Posted by: Joel Weiner | October 16, 2021 at 02:47 PM
The one thing that almost everyone regrets in adulthood: "I wish I had not stopped the music lessons." It is a small grief not to have music in one's life. Its mystery and beauty carry us through. It creates an intimate space where we feel more truly ourselves.
I agree with these previous, lovely comments. Thank you, Lera Auerbach, for the inspiration.
Posted by: Emily Fragos | October 17, 2021 at 02:02 AM
Thank you for the poem -- and for the enlightening and appreciative comments from Joel W. and Emily F.
Posted by: sarah gelder | October 17, 2021 at 12:12 PM