True Stories
Beethoven dumped ice water
over his head when composing, his living room
covered with asphalt to keep
water from seeping through. Deaf, hopeless
& bedridden he left the world shaking
his dying blue fist at a thunderstorm while invoking
Augustus: Applaud my friends the comedy
is over. Stravinsky stood
on his head for 15 minutes every morning
because it rests the head & clears
the brain. Gertrude Stein
preferred writing with a cow
in plain sight. With Alice, she’d recklessly
drive country roads in their early model Ford
until she sensed the just right spot,
where she mused on a stool — if the cow didn’t fit
the mood, they’d drive to the next cow. After
The Waste Land, Eliot wore pale green
face powder. No one knows why he did it,
but his biographer suggests it made him
look the poet rather than bank official.
In college, I swooned to Satie’s hypnotic
Gymnopédie No. 1. On snowy days I’d
wrap myself in a violet afghan, part the long
linen drapes & behold the delicate
falling. For 27 years, it’s said, not one soul
entered Satie’s shabby room. After he died
from cirrhosis they found 100 umbrellas,
84 handkerchiefs & piles of letters stuffed
into his concert, grand, most written
to himself & then there were those wacky
ditties like Authentic Flabby Preludes
(For a Dog) & Desiccated Embryos.
When he was 21 there was Suzanne,
his one great love. Satie bestowed her
with necklaces made of sausages,
while she made her own corsages
from carrots. In oil, they painted portraits
of each other, sailed toy boats
on a duck pond together. After six months
she left & for 30 years he showered her
with letters of abiding love. No one knows why
he donned grey velvet suits exclusively
& ate only white food — coconut, rice
& shredded bones. I have a good appetite,
but never talk when eating for fear
of strangling myself, he exclaimed. We should
have a music of our own — if possible —
without any sauerkraut.
8 thoughts on "True Stories"
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oh Linda, where to begin. there is relish behind the telling, and phrases that murder me. Beethoven “shaking
his dying blue fist at a thunderstorm,” and then the snow and self description listening to Satie (I have to agree)…. “in a violet afghan, part the long linen drapes & behold the delicate falling”… this, as Dr. Tony H from my college would say “entertains and educates” a.k.a. it is art approaching theatre. loved it 🙂
A fantastic read! Love the “food jewelry” and all the history. Thanks for the enjoyably poetic lesson.
Wonderful stuff, full of glorious concrete detail. The Eliot & Stein stanza is my fave.
Argh. I just saw a typo. In the part about Satie it’s suppoded to read ” letters stuffed into his grand piano,” instead of letters stuffed into his concert, grand”
I’m not sure what I typed got in there since it doesn’t even make sense.
Linda this is amazing. It’s like a Eureeka! I feel like I’ve walked in on someone saying “Aha! I have found it!” And then I can find it too. Thank you for this. I like to read it over and over.
As I read this I became a newer person, more educated about things I should have known but didn’t, about the important things that make people unique and colorful and humorous and every line and every word seemed to fit-even concert, grand-i immediately thought piano-and this poem showed me the unicorns in the characters and in you. Thank you for a wonderful poem.
Yay for having a music of our own!
When we let our mind serve as a magnet for all the amazing things we see or stumble on, and then have the talent and word magic to weave them as you have done here, all we can do is stand back and say thank you.