Concerning Concerning the Accordion

What spoke to me directly about this prose poem is the way it approaches a musical instrument on many different angles. As a composer, I come across a ton of instruments day in and day out. From there, I can get the interpretations that Al Zolynas applies to the accordion specifically. On a physical end, any instrument might appear ugly [the manuals of the Ford Hall organ apply here but that's a different story...]. But in and of itself, each instrument has a person with a story to tell and acts as a tool to tell that story. There also is intrinsic beauty and a comeliness to each instrument, or therein, moving the definition to the deeper level and going more in depth with the thoughts, the concept of the instrument and the story the person playing it must tell through there.

That's What He Said

Before coming here, my father, whom I call Peter because I do not always think of him as a father, told me one thing: "don't be a musical snob." Those words resonated down with me. To me, they go two ways in the discussion we had. On a preliminary level, these words came from the man who never could complete a piece of music in his life when he played; he always ended up stopping in the middle because he would get distracted and end up focusing on something else entirely unrelated to what he supposedly loves doing. So it begs to ask the question, at least to me, of whether or not he really is talking to me as if I have become a "musical snob" or whether or not I, in my own knowledge and breadth, have surpassed him, and it is his way of retaliating against me or still trying to make himself seem relevant and knowledgeable. Even if that seems a bit snobbish in and of itself, it's true.

However, in saying this, it is very possible that I have proven him right. Perhaps I, in my quest for more in music, have become a snob in the process he didn't want to see. There's two facets here: I do know more than him and I am more versatile than him, so it could be that he really does see that I'm a threat to him and he seeks to hold me back. Or he could very well be watching to see if I do become what he does not want to see happen. By calling myself better than him, I may have stepped over the line of being a snob.

Or this may just be what was supposed to happen. The reason this stuck with me is that both answers are right: I am a snob now, and I have surpassed him in his own passion.

Poetry and Power: Corrine Hales's "Power" and Why It's a Poem

Corrine Hales's poem "Power" I would say sufficiently covers the idea of a poem in one way alone: intimacy. It conveys the entire event, sure, and her own perspective on it. But it's not a piece of prose that recalls the events or simply shows you the events. The poem usually provides a window into the heart of the events or into the heart of the idea that the poet wants to convey. "Power" provides a succinct look into the mind of Hales and her perception of the events. But it never bogs itself down in the details. It keeps its perspective and shows all the events happening, but you really do FEEL them instead of reading them being shown. The last few lines, depicting the different reactions, give me the sensation that there's more going on that words on a page. Even in as few words as "I couldn't stop watching" shortly after the description of the engineer provide a level of intimacy in the situation. There's naked details told nakedly. There's levels of succinctness, such as "I couldn't stop watching" amidst more expressed ideas, like "...and the man/Was falling, sobbing, to his knees." There's intimate details told in the best fashion they could be told.