Fiddler Jones

Back when I was living in New York, I had one of the best teachers one could ever have. Upon leaving his advanced class to go live in Los Angeles we were in class doing "Spoon River Anthology"-poems. One of the most beautiful experiences I've ever had of poetry. With the technique he was teaching, the poems jumped off the page and became alive. His favorite, which I was honored to be given the incredibly hard task of performing, was titled Fiddler Jones.

Yesterday before starting rehearsal of our new play that we're premiering at the end of the month, good ol' Fiddler popped into my brain, but I could only remember parts of it, so I had to look it up.

I will learn it once more, because this is a piece I want to keep at heart, always:

The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off to 'Toor-a-Loor.'
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill- only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle-
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.

- Edgar Lee Masters

I relate it obviously to the huge amount of introspection that I'm doing ultimately, of course, with my meditation.

Don't be a stranger! Loves