An empty stage,
In an empty room, dark,
Strewn with cobwebs, and dust, and old programs.
Only a few hours before
The stage was bright,
The room filled with people,
A play was performed.
The curtain closed.
The lights went off.
The cars left.
The characters that were brought to life for a few short lines
Disappeared as though never there.
Gone forever,
Except in the hearts of the players, and the old programs,
Waiting to be swept away...
This poem was written shortly after I played the role of the mother in Neal Simon's 'Come Blow Your Horn' in high school. My English teacher challenged our class to write a poem in the style of another poet. She gave some examples of her favorite poetry to get us started.
ReplyDeleteI was a huge fan of Simon & Garfunkel at the time and one of her suggestions was 'Old Friends.' I don't think this early poem of mine has the genius of their work, but similar feelings are generated when I read both.
Simon And Garfunkel Old Friends Lyrics
Old friends,
old friends
sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blowin' through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes
of the old friends
Old friends,
winter companions,
the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sun
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the
old friends
Can you imagine us years from today,
sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy
Old friends,
memory brushes the same years,
silently sharing the same fears
I was already going to be melancholy about this show ending. Which is, I'm sure, why you posted this poem at this time.
ReplyDeleteI do love S&G. Your poem definitely evokes a similar feeling. You know, Paul and Art were both born in autumn 1941. I wonder if they'll sit together on a park bench next year and think it terribly strange.
ReplyDeleteI bet they'll still be crazy.
ReplyDeleteIf they do, I hope someone takes a picture of it.
ReplyDelete