Oboe - A childhood memory

[Gyppo]

Something from a few years ago, which some of you will have seen elsewhere.

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Oboe

She lived alone, 
well organised, 
with a table outside her tent
where she ate every evening,
cleaned up neatly, 
then serviced the tools of her trade.

She was an oboe player,
working a summer season
with a big band 
on a nearby pier.

I used to wander across,
listen to her play, 
like a moth to a candle.

She barely spoke to anyone else, 
but explained things
with the patience of a teacher, 
to a curious ten year old boy.

Looking back I realise, 
like many performers,
she was a shy person
who let her instrument speak.

But she felt safe enough with me
to explain all about reeds,
how different players cut them
to suit themselves.
How lung capacity,
air velocity, and other intangibles
coaxed the magic from the wood.

Then when she was ready
she'd play some haunting air
as the Summer light faded
and she merged into her music,
a dark shape against the skyline.
Oblivious to all except the melody
and an entranced child.

And whilst she played 
I'd watch the setting sun
glitter on the knife she'd used 
to trim the reeds.

I never wanted to play like her
but watching those broad hands
and stubby fingers using that knife
fascinated me.

Gyppo

[Mark Hoffmann]

I'd not seen this one before.

Very nice, especially the focus on the reed and knife rather than the instrument itself.

Mark H
 

[avwhis6466]

Nice. I once loved an oboist so this brought back some memories

The lines of the third stanza could be rearranged so they read:

I used to wander across
like a moth to a candle,
listen to her play.

To my eye, just reads a bit smoother and still captures the hypnotizing quality of the music. You could even drop “like” and just say, “I used to wander across / a moth to a candle / listen to her play.”

Much enjoyed!

[indar]

This is one of my favorites of your poems, Gyppo. So precise in detail without being tedious. I love the life that woman leads. (well maybe not in reality but in dreams of a simpler existence). And the N has made me love it just through a few well-written details.

[lshmael]

Hi Gyppo. Your affection for this woman and memory comes through nicely in the poem. It reads in a nice and casual manner for me, which I think is very fitting for a childhood memory. I'm not sure if the last stanza is needed, although perhaps it would end on too strong an image without it.

[Tracy Mitchell]

This is a strong argument for recycling.   I love it each time around.  Your writing skills are on full display, G.

T