Friday, December 30, 2005

a new year's poem

It's New Year's, and this blog is now nine months old;
A few thoughts (and links), if I may be so bold:
They say success has many parents, while failure has none,
But who wants to raise a blog, when all's said and done?

Showing to everyone how poorly we edit,
Then realizing maybe no one even read it.
So I offer this poem, with just one dedication:
To those who provided this blog's inspiration!

To my nephew Isaac, born just this past spring,
His new life in Norfolk's a marvelous thing.
To Jimmy and Grandma, two losses felt deeply,
And endless The New Yorker issues bought cheaply.

To seemingly unending interstate roads,
And friendly excursions, communing with toads.
To a guy on an airplane who told me so much,
And musical hands with a sensual touch.

To Saramago and Murakami, whose books I adored,
And Crichton, and politicians I abhored.
To other Matt Hellers, whose sites may be better,
And Rainer Maria Rilke, for his wonderful letters.

To novelist Nicole Krauss, who wrote The History of Love,
And books I never read (though maybe I should've).
To wise Marcel Proust, still my favorite of all,
And to some random stranger who happened to call.

To studies on how civilizations fail;
And to Ron and Lisa, who took us to sail.
To talking with kids about musical things,
And all of the joys that an orchestra brings.

To Katrina and Wilma, I can't say we'll miss you,
Global warming's made guilt a political issue.
To Lydia's comments, a blog in themselves,
And NSA agents like sly Christmas elves.

To beautiful South Beach, with all of its wonders,
And humble Kent State, paving over its blunders.
To stuff Karen taught me on Hindemith's style,
And stuff that I learned in a grocery aisle.

To cathartic discussions while munching on challah,
And favorite composers, like Bruckner and Mahler,
And Adams, Schoenberg, Elgar, Martinu,
And while on the subject, why not Hummel too?

Dmitri, and Ludwig, and dear Humperdinck
Are harder to fit in a rhyme scheme, I think,
But still deserve mention, with Anita O'Day
And teachers, some recent and one passed away;

There's Dimoff from Cleveland, and San Francisco's Steve,
A hornist named Phil you must hear to believe,
Though for advice on auditions there may be no peer
To another from Cleveland, percussionist Tom Freer.

While few can shape time like New World's MTT;
His Don Juan was great, and his Beethoven 3.
To Knussen and Schuller, and Feltsman, and Bunch,
And Internet 2, and Marc Fest bringing lunch.

Much more could be said about music and bass,
But all of these lines are a bit of a waste
If I forget all my friends, so many in number,
here in Miami, and those made last summer.

For you, I hope this New Year will bring something greater,
And I'll see you all again, sooner or later.
So to 2006! and to all that's impending,
While this year, like that moving walkway, is ending.