02. October 2016 · Comments Off on Just because it moves me so … · Categories: Choral, Poetry

The Wartburg Choir, “Prayer” by Morten Lauridsen, poem by Dana Gioia

If you want to see the poem again go here. I can’t post the poem here, as it breaks copyright law.

02. April 2011 · Comments Off on I Don’t Memorize Things · Categories: Poetry, Videos

… really! I hate memorization. I know my solos when I’m playing them, and if the wind blew the music off the stand I could —I should!— continue. But I still don’t want to be told I have to play by memory. I blame my brain. But who knows? Maybe I’m just lazy. Probably so.

T, blogger at Notes of an Anesthesioboist, brought a video to my attention. This little guy likes to memorize. He recites “Litany” by Billy Collins. I love Billy Collins. I also love this little boy! Wow!

Gee, he even gets the —es in there! 🙂

And thank you, T, for reminding me that this is National Poetry Month!

15. January 2011 · 1 comment · Categories: Poetry

In response to what a friend (hi Cameron!) wrote:

ing it! (slightly abbreviated tune):

The Impossible Reed (sung to Impossible Dream)

To find
the impossible reed
The one
that works all of the time
The reed
that makes playing so easy
The sort
that’s incredibly fine.

This is my quest ‐
to locate that reed!
No matter how costly
(I’ll deal with the greed),
and to purchase that reed
and be thrilled at the sight;
It’s impossible, sure
but I dream of that reed
through each day and each night …

19. November 2010 · Comments Off on When I’m Sixty-Four · Categories: Birthdays!, Poetry

Ten years to reach the Beatle’s song
no longer seems so very long —
It seems as years keep disappearing
it’s not as bad as I was fearing
I’ve now reached milestone fifty-four;
I’ll see you ’round for many more!

to me
at 53
was young and free.

no more
now 54
I think
I’m just a bore!


(I doubt I’ll put up any more goofy poetry … but you never know! This IS how I handle being another year older, after all.)


19. November 2010 · Comments Off on 54 · Categories: Birthdays!, Poetry

Inside I feel the same as yesterday
the insecurities will rage, and fears
that I had dreamed would disappear still play
their dirty tricks (although I don’t shed tears
the way I would have in my younger days).
Give thanks for lessons learned! For all the years
have taught me multitudes of clever ways
to turn from nervousness and switch the gears.

No sadness here, no time for that, no more!
I’m proud to say I’ve just turned fifty four!

27. March 2010 · Comments Off on Lights Out! · Categories: News, Poetry

It would be really interesting to schedule some sort of chamber concert tonight in a location that could handle the darkness. Would people listen differently if they couldn’t see? I’m certain so. Hmmm. Maybe I should have my oboe out and ready to play before I turn out the lights, and then just spend time on excerpts. Or even scales. I will, of course, be home alone. No one here to hear me but me.

That sounds like a country western song … and please excuse the gender change, but I hear a man’s voice in this one:

Oh, the Oboe Woes

No one in the house to even hear me
I’m sittin’ in the darkness all alone
They tell me that a man’s home is his castle
But I’m a’thinkin’ it’s not quite a home.
I still remember when she up and left me
All because I pulled out one sharp knife
You’d think she woulda known I played the oboe
Now here I sit, alone, without a life.


20. March 2010 · Comments Off on The Garden Of Love · Categories: Oboe, Poetry, Videos

I first heard this work with Bart Schneeman, on his CD “It Takes Two”. Some of you will enjoy this. Some will not. Go figure. That’s how music works, right? Especially when it’s for oboe and boombox! 🙂

My somewhat pathetic tribute to yours:

so much depends
some good oboe
shaped and water
beside the sharp

12. April 2009 · Comments Off on Easter Wings · Categories: Poetry

by George Herbert

Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store,

        Though foolishly he lost the same,

              Decaying more and more,

                      Till he became

                        Most poore:

                        With Thee

                      O let me rise,

              As larks, harmoniously,

        And sing this day Thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne;

  And still with sicknesses and shame

        Thou didst so punish sinne,

                  That I became

                   Most thinne.

                    With Thee

                Let me combine,

      And feel this day Thy victorie;

    For, if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.