Lying hands of mine

Sometimes able, hands of mine
could never master
minor keys;
my hands were way
too playful, fingertips on ivory
frightened stiffed
when touching blackness felt
in ebony
that only ink could tell, but
I pretended, faked
in harmonies of lying hands,
a music void of dissonance.
While under skin
melancholy waited
to be born
from poetry.

Hands by Robert Silvers

Hands by Robert Silvers

Today Mish is our guest at dVerse Poetics prompting us to write about hands, and I started to think about why I could never learn to play the piano.

March 15, 2017

38 responses to “Lying hands of mine

  1. Wonderful how you took the act of learning to play piano and translated it into your poetry.

  2. Your final line is killer, brother; lying hands indeed–giving me several ideas of where to go with my poetic effort today.

  3. I too admire the ending lines Bjorn ~ Your hands are indeed made for melancholy, waiting to be born as poetry ~ Love also the contrast of ivory with ebony ~

  4. Did you ever see me invent the word “melon Collie”? That was ages ago. Not sure you caught it, though. I love that word, “melancholy,” even though it’s sad.
    I think you can change something sad into something giggly in a few seconds — if you really want to.

    You already have my notes on the poem.

  5. Hands must find their way too. My mother was a piano teacher so for me it was inevitable that I play. Fortunately, my hands agreed, but not so much now. I enjoyed this line “I pretended, faked
    in harmonies of lying hands”. Reminded me of those students sent to my mother for lessons (in our home), when their hands were clearly meant for other adventures.

  6. Like that Bjorn …. isn’t interesting how creative people always have that dark desire to excel in another format …. mine is painting! Piano may be beyond you, but your poetry delivers music of another sort. Great write.

  7. Sadly, it was the clarinet, for me. Never could master the fingering of the holes. But, given a pen or clay, now that’s another story. Thanks for sharing, Bjorn, this wonderful poem.

  8. Ha, Bjorn….I took piano lessons too, but really played more mechanically than musically. Indeed a person can play many different melodies in poetry…however the mood strikes!

  9. Ah…it’s been too long since I’ve sat at a piano. Unlike you, though, my fingers seemed to migrate to the rich sounds of minor keys.

  10. I kayak instead of play basketball. We all find our niches.
    I love the black keys — they make the white seem so bland.
    The piano made my other instruments start to breathe.
    Writing poetry has taught me much about writers.

  11. Interesting play with words, and playing piano! I played violin for years, but never understood how anyone could use both hands on the piano to play beautiful music. As others have said, you play your poems like lovely serenades!

  12. Oh, you must have had a peek at my childhood. This brought back memories of sitting beside my mother on the piano bench while she tried to teach me to play.

  13. Excellent write, I know this trepidation – exasperation.. For me it was the flute in middle school. Such a beautiful instrument, but it could not convey what I wanted the way words could.

  14. In a family of 4 girls, i am the one ungifted of any musical talent. Except for the toe-tapping and hand clapping. Your talent for writing is always mesmerizing….

  15. I can relate to this. Well-constructed, in a relaxed way … which underscores your point, perfectly, Wonderfully worded, without coming across as being over-thought … a “know thyself” moral-of-the-story presented in a delightful way.

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