Dimmer lights signal
the aisle gossipers
to move to their seats.
Applause is for
their improved behavior as well as
a clued beginning of the concert.
In the dim light, ghostly figures
move behind waiting instruments
and music stands.
The spotlight comes on.
The old maestro slowly
walks on stage hand-in-hand with
old-man rheumatisms.
With the halting gait of old age,
he comes to stage center.
He is costumed to match his music.
The hinted message of the
weary posture and
wild white hair is contradicted
by a most youthful first note.
He plays with energy and clarity
that says the old body is
carrying a young musical genius.
Fickle critics who once praised his
bold, youthful improvising might now
suggest he rambles.
No structure could provide better jazz.
His discipline could never produce a ramble.
His music displays his endless repertoire
scattered to the audience
like the chumming of fish.
The audience loudly shouts and applauds
as they take the bait.
In his head are more remembered notes
than there are stars.
65 years of songs are on file.
And every note he brings forth is
beautiful, full and soul-touching.
With our electronic genius,
can we preserve that repertoire?
No future horn player
will have time or talent
to learn as much.
The old master plays on
as the other band members
look a bit weary.
On and on he plays as
full of energy as at the first note.
The dignified audience is on its feet
shouting with waving arms.
The old maestro responds with more
as the band members glance
at each other and the exits.
Finally only the old maestro
has not had enough.
He would be playing still
if the house lights had not been turned on.
Old maestro, young maestro
Sort of depends. Huh?
Doug Minnis May 20, 2010