Notes from Philly weblog


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Virginia Pines

Photo by Sergio G. Valdes



He taught me how to sit.

He taught me how to use my feet.

He taught me music begins at the shoulders:

Loosen the arms, the wrists.

Two cups above the ivories, upside down.

Curved fingers rise and press:

the lexicon of touch.

He had the cleanest fingers.

He taught me how to see the colors.

You’re too young. Dinu Lipatti’s tone wasn’t cock n’ balls.

One artist is not fungible for another.

He taught me nothing good is done swiftly.

Take things apart, a chord, a rhythm. Beethoven knew:

sonatas sprouting from two notes.

He taught me not to skimp on the transitions. They are  the hardest parts.

He scolded when I dressed down to perform,

made fun of names I couldn’t pronounce.

I learned to give Saint-Saens his due.


Written by Lesley Valdes

November 8, 2009 at 5:02 pm

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