When playing a high note, any note really, where appropriate, but in this case it was a high note, in fourth position or whatever it is called in English, you want not only to vibrate the note but also to hold the fingers of your left hand in the proper positions. They should not bend in the wrong way, or be held at the wrong angle. We went over this, my teacher and I. He asked whether the nerve damage in my left hand made it impossible for me to feel with the fingers, and I answered, “somewhat, but not completely.” In my opinion, the partial numbness is less a problem than general laziness and lack of knowledge of proper technique. He demonstrated the proper finger positions. He looked at my fingers, and at his. He remarked that it was easy for him, he had long slender fingers. But then, he remarked, X has sausage fingers too, and he gets by. X being some professional cellist of his acquaintance. I mentally measured the classroom window. The chances of surprising him so greatly that I could throw him through it like a spear were slight, and with his long arms and legs it would be nearly impossible were he to resist, turning into a stubborn, joyless struggle common in my dreams. I expressed optimism that I, too, could train myself to vibrate that high note.
I daresay there are some who seem to ask to be defenstrated. But here we talk more about hitting them on the head, like maybe with a rolled up newspaper.
A disgruntled old cellist in Wien,
Gave his teacher a swat to the bean,
He knocked the poor guy,
Through the window, my, my,
But the landing was feet first and clean!
That’s fantastic, Ann! You are officially my second favorite poet (Nicanor Parra is still ahead of you).
Thank you kindly, Meagan.
Yes, that makes you one of the whole two poets I actually like. And Nicanor Parra is frequently referred to as “the anti-poet”, which is probably why I like him. Generally speaking, I am not much for poetry.
You know, the more I think about this, I remember how, about a year and a half ago, I saw this female physician who started yelling at me about high blood pressure, which I do not now, and never have had; well I remember how I would have liked to slap her silly, or drop kick her to the moon!