you yourself die;
I know one thing
which never dies:
the judgment of a dead (wo)man’s life.
Maybe it’s the fact I’m dead
that modified my legacy as pioneering
pianist, to that of wife;
appendix to my Robert,
sidekicked from the pedestal
my audience placed me on.
Maybe it’s only afterwards
you’re diminished into wife and woman
not colleague of the music marbled men.
I was the first to learn to
play from memory, to let the music
flow from sense to muscles,
from brainwaves into to fingertips.
All those men I helped are
part of history, but I am most
remembered as an almost widow
after Robert was asylumed.
But I composed, performed, and worked
with men I called by first name
and who called me Clara in return.
Maybe it’s best, you never know alive
how history is written, how you’re erased
to serve a purpose not your own.
Maybe it’s in the mirror glass of time
a sidekick is defined.
Rommy want’s us to write about sidekicks at toads, and though the prompt starts from the concept of superheros and sidekicks, I think it’s often history that defines who’s the hero and who’s the sidekick. This is inspired by the idea of Carol Ann Duffy’s book the World’s wife, and the history of Clara Schumann, the wife of renowned composer Robert Schumann. She was a pianist, composer and inspired many other composers in addition to her husband. She was celebrated during her lifetime but more or less erased from music history….
You tell me if she was any less composer than her contemporary composers…
September 23, 2016