A Broken French Tune

A poem

My favorite record, real vinyl,

Grooved, shiny, and black. Arrived by a ship’s

Ocean voyage trip, all the way from France.

A perfect birthday present in a box 

Addressed from Paris with a note she signed,

     “Grandma.”

It’s true I never met her, but I knew

She loved me all the same. I could feel it,

Her love, from the music that her special

Record played. If feeling down, a little

Alone, I always found comfort in that tone.

Chancellor is my dog and best friend too.

He thought it was a Frisbee, or a treat.

I don’t know why, but he broke it today,

Split it into three. No record. No Grandma. 

How could it be that even music dies?

If I never sing or dance that tune again, 

Or feel the love it brought to me, I only 

Hope I don’t resent my best friend forever.

Reviews

[ReedWrite]

Very different piece, but I like it a lot. I like the unique style and flow...and the sentiment is wonderful. That you held a piece of your Grandma in that record...loved her through it. And after its broken, no record. No grandma. The music dies. Maybe you captured the memories...the music and memory...in a poem now, instead of a record.

[M. Hassen]

Thank you for your review, I like the idea of some sort of transference from the music to a poem as another lasting art object. Great insight!

[Kathy Van Kurin]

M. Hassen,
Nice to meet a new writer as this is a first read for me. This lovly story of dealing with the loss of something comforting-grandma's gift of music. Your heart still has the music of your memories of what you gained from her gift. You even have a doggie friend who loves You! My grandmas are both gone now. The memories are very much alive. Kathy

[Giulia King]

I like this poem! well written, your words paint a picture :)

[Philip Muls]

A record as immortality project is a fragile proposition. I like the tone of your poem.

[Monica Chen]

The last line of the third stanza really grabbed my attention: "How could it be that even music dies?" Just within this one line, I can feel a rich mixture of awe, loss, and paralyzing bewilderment. And it's very interesting in that today, we have so many digital media outlets for music (where it seems as if the music shared through the internet will never disappear) but the tunes that seem to hold the most sentiment are the ones that can't be replicated -- sort of like how we try to recall the voices of people after they're gone...

[M. Hassen]

Thanks, yeah it makes me wonder how much music out there isn't digitized and could be lost at any given time.