The Taskmaster

A chance meeting at midlife
A young cellist on the radio
Slow emotive notes
Reverberations and longing

So you became my taskmaster
Insisting upon unity of body and mind
Clearing of obsessions
Demanding relaxation

A strange new country
Four strings the only roads
Sounds the only guideposts
Confusion, frustration

This note is A, this is C, this is F sharp
But I had no unconscious template, no map
Every day I had to relearn the notes
Rote recitation

The absence of any template
Of fluency in this bewildering language
Like wandering blindfolded through a forest
Disorientation

A few years pass, but then one day
A little bird alights inside my head
And begins to sing
Recognition, intonation!

I feel my fingers subtly moving
A little sharp, a little flat
Compensating naturally for little errors
A template, a roadmap, navigation!

Now I can improvise and compose
Short pieces that move my soul
From years of repetition and gestation
Has come intuition and creation

How often I have wished
We could have met when I was young
How much I could have done!
Wistful rumination

Maybe I would have learned more quickly
But would I have perceived or appreciated
The wonderment of building, and learning
The spiritual transfiguration

Maybe middle-age brings doggedness
Has learned how to work hard
Regards hard work as a given
Persistent perspiration

Maybe youth would have recoiled
From the daunting effort required
And given up
Childhood’s shifting attentions

I’m very prone to what ifs and regrets
But I’ve learned how to relinquish such futility
The taskmaster therapist reminds me to revel
In sweet satisfaction

Out of void
Has come beautiful music
Well tempered by midlife’s wisdom
And many imperfections

*** *** ***
If there’s something you want to do in this life, don’t be afraid to try. Chances are you can succeed.