In addition to “Au Clair de la Lune,” I am practicing “Lavender Blue”, “Edelweiss”, “By the Rivers of Babylon” and “Simple Gifts.” I could make a poem out of that, but music? Not so much. I am getting slightly better, I tell myself.  Small and white, clean and bright, every morning instead of greeting me the  notes scatter like chickens confronting a cobra.  I shoehorn in a bit of rhythm. A syncopation.  Rhythmic variation implies a level of facility with the standard oom-pah, My variations have a simpler name: mistakes. Left hand wants to do what the right hand is doing. Don’t do that. The right hand is making its own blunders.

Tis a gift (I ain’t got it—not yet, anyway) to come down where you ought to be.


4 responses to “DISCORDION

  1. Could that have been your accordion teacher strolling down our street on a recent lovely warm night, playing a tune in the semi-darkness as her friend walked his/her/their? little dog. The light on the dog’s collar blinked in time to the music. Felt very French Village street, but without the cobblestones. I asked, “Are you Richard’s teacher?” But she was either too shy or too engrossed in coming down where she ought to be to respond.

    • No, she’s not my teacher, but I’ve seen her a couple of times and in addition to her accordion she
      transports a whole atmosphere. Soon instead of people yacking in their phones we’ll have flocks of accordion players. Watch out!

  2. You could save yourself the trouble of producing these lovely blurbs by posting an actual file of yourself playing. On second thought you’ll never play as well as you write. Encore.

  3. Ho ho ho. Aren’t you the masochist today? Thanks for the compliment, I think.

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