ever the mystery of memory

Page Seventy-six

Tues 25 May 2010

It never ceases to amaze me… or baffle me, or frustrate me … how many ways the memory has of functioning. Long-term, short-term, passive, active, etc. And the things you think have completely gone from your memory, only to find out they are still there.

I had one of those still-there episodes yesterday. Just lying around, longing as ever for my animals and my own life, and suddenly a line of a poem pops into my head. At first I thought it was a poem someone else had written and I had once memorized. Three or four times it repeated, and then I realized it was the first line of a poem I had written myself, about 33 years ago, and already a cynic. I haven’t seen that poem in decades, and thought I had completely erased it from the grey cells, but there it was. And then the rest of it came.

I put it here in memory of the very young Anne who wrote it. I put it here in memory of the 55 years when I wrote poetry and wrote music and drew pictures, and did everything that I did, with my animal family members all around me.

The Bard

 

Improvising, lying and ad-libbing as he goes, he goes 
on  strumming, talking, singing, feigning humor for the money,
grinning, though he knows, he knows he’s playing,
and the grinning is the game.
Settle back and listen to the love song that he sings
and sings so pretty, sad but pretty. And he’s reading all their wet-eyed pity,
but he knows he’s never loved that way: to him it’s just a song.
Close the show, give out the final number (let them know
they owe you money for your playing). Staying through the tears and cheers
            for hours… and the bard, he has his price.   
                                                                         
                                 
                         ~~~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
                                    (bard at www.toscano.com)
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2 Comments

  1. ruthnoakes said,

    June 14, 2010 at 11:28 am

    I think it’s wonderful, and it’s special that you can share something like this, something so intensely personal. One can feel a sense of nostalgia over something written or created even just a couple of years ago, but thirty three, I wonder how that must feel, it must feel like opening a time-capsule and being temporarily transported back itno the moment when you first wrote it

  2. braon said,

    January 31, 2011 at 5:23 pm

    So Ruth, six months later I find this comment. I just miss them sometimes. Yes, it’s very like opening a time capsule.


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