Ingrained
The salt and oil of his hand
are torment and life’s-blood both
to the volutes of the instrument
and to
the curving, sinuous surfaces of that
deep-burnished ancient bass—its sigh
at the mindful, guiding touch
of the hand
steady with certainty, knowing
the way from note to note,
from phrase to
singing phrase, without
reference anymore
to intent because
the thought, the meaning, the joy
and the intensity are all
as deep as heartwood in
the ancient tree that was
the bass’s former self.
Those days,
no bird
set in the boughs of the
grandfather tree
had sweeter voice
than the breezes piping softly
through its leaves, no, even than
the tiny song
humming through
the tree’s own heart, minute
and pale yet, sub-sonically, a hint
—a whisper—in
the lyric capillary rise
of tree’s-elixir every spring
of the string-bass sound
far-off, unborn,
lying cradled
until called out
by generations, ‘til,
goaded with salt,
soothed with oil,
called
to speak again as its
nature insists,
under a musician’s hand.
There is a dignity
And elegance to being worn
Beyond recognition as
The thing-that-was:
Once pretty, fully functional,
Well designed—It’s by
The fineness of this apropos
Well-suitedness for use
That things that might
Have been quite simple and
Quite plain become
The hard-used favorites
That by this aging then
As Beautiful
Become defined
Hard to imagine how much wear
It takes to soften down
The tough old boots I loved the best
And burnish their deep brown
Thick skin until it’s almost black
In places by the heel
And worn by stirrups near the shank—
But I know how they feel
The King is Sleeping
Don’t go in—the king is sleeping;
Don’t barge in, disturb his rest—
All the bodyguards were keeping
Such good care at his behest
Up until a couple decades
Turned to several centuries
And the stalwart guardians made
A heap of dust fine as the breeze
And the palace came to crumble
And the country to decay
And the sands of time to tumble
To eternity, away—
Let the king sleep on in silence;
There’s no reason to awake
Anymore, to stir and rile and
See destruction come and take
From him all his kingdom’s treasures,
All he held and fought to own,
All his onetime loves and pleasures
Turned to silicates and stone—
Don’t go in—the king is sleeping;
History cries ‘let him sleep!’
While the passing age is creeping,
Peace is all he gets to keep
Art-Colored Glasses 
Wow, these are terrific, Kathryn! I especially liked “Well Worn”. The idea that only a favorite item ever becomes well worn is very appealing. 🙂
I’m hoping that explains my various wrinkles too! 😀
“There is a dignity
And elegance to being worn”
How true! I have a few of those things that I have owned forever and yet they have such grace and comfort.
The music ingrained in the tree released through human hands. What a lovely idea. Beautiful!
Thank you, Rama, I’m glad these images connected with you. 🙂
Amazing poetry, my sweet!
How sweet of you to say so! ❤
These are really beautiful pieces..
I hope I can feel that way, beautiful in being worn, (not worn-out!) and old as I look in the mirror year after year!
Natasha, I can tell already from your blog that you are the sort who will always wear her life beautifully! Thank you for the kind comment.
Kathryn I especially like Well Worn. I am off to look up ‘volutes’ as I have no idea what it means.
Thank you, my darling, I’m so glad you enjoy it. ‘Volutes’ sounds more musical than ‘curls’ or ‘spirals’ to me, so since the piece was inspired as I was watching a friend play his ancient string bass in a rehearsal I thought I must choose the more musical word . . .
I am going to veer away from what seems to be a favorite and tell you that The King is Sleeping is the one speaking to me. It has an epic feel to it and, maybe because I am beyond fatigued, it is making me feel weepy.
Why, thank you! I can only imagine how exhausted you are at the moment, with all the work and intense activity and special projects and snow-shoveling you’ve been juggling lately at all hours! But I kind of like the ‘King’ too, as it’s sort of my riff on Ozymandias, a longtime favorite of mine!
I liked the well worn one, i feel well worn today.. c
I’ll bet if you need bucking up you could go out to the barn and Daisy will turn on the light for Mia to dance a little gavotte for you. Then you can crawl under the blanket with Big Dog and he will keep you warm until John comes out to collect you for the night. 🙂 In any event, I hope that your feeling well worn is in the sense of the poem, that of being made beautiful by your labors, because no one can have achieved that more artfully than you I’m quite sure. xo!
You captured the beauty and character of each tool and instrument in your pictures and words.
I guess I try hard to let my love of Other Old Things shine through in my work! 🙂
A perfect nod to passing time and the well worn tracks it leaves. Love the foursome together.
Thank you so much, my lovely!
Wonderful quartet Kathryn, my favourite has to be “The King is Sleeping” 😊
I appreciate it greatly, my friend.
“There is a dignity
And elegance to being worn …”
Would that more people took these words to heart. How did we get to a point where a face stretched ever so taut is considered preferable, even desirable, over the laugh lines of a lifetime? Yes, Kathryn, Well Worn is my favorite but that doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy its 3 counterparts. See? 🙂 I’m smiling!
Good, I’m helping you work on your laugh lines, too! Now I may have to hunt up an older poem I did about the creepiness of artificially smooth faces . . . or maybe this was plenty! 🙂
Kiwsparks, “well worn Age Becomes Beauty” and beauty becomes age when Beauty learns temperance, understanding and kindness.
Your, “The King Is Sleeping” reminds one of Shelley’s sonnet, “Ozymandias”. Kings and kingdoms rise and fall to eternal sleep, a sound message to be heeded by some of our more contemporary cultures.
Nice set of three deeply meaningful poems. Thank you for this post…
Yes, there is wisdom possible when Beauty learns those useful characteristics. Thank you, lovely Lindy Lee! Have a peek at my reply to cfbookchick’s comment above regarding the King–you nailed it. 🙂
I love the “well worn” wonderful poetry and photos, where did you find that instrument on the first picture
Both instruments in the first pair of photos are in the Museum of Fine Art in Boston. They have a fantastic collection of old and unusual instruments from all over the world. Wonderful stuff! (I’m glad you enjoyed the poetry and photos too! 🙂 )
Well written as usual, Favorite Boots is my favourite.
I’ll bet you could go snake hunting in a good pair like that! And yeah, I did rhyme those boots for you! 😉