shrinking success

that's all I wanted,
to know the honours of the rich and famous
the power of my name in neon lights
it never happened, doc…
shall we say karma, destiny? or
just life's latest spoof?

"public success is not the only importance in life"
they have all told me in whispered secrets
and you, too, repeat it so parrot-perfectly --
balderdash! poppycock!
what do they know about reaching for the stars?
do they dream about standing ovations in Carnegie Hall?
do they have their names twinkling on Broadway?
do their initials throne daily on best seller lists?
where is the authority in these people who chatter like old biddies
and say that my dreams were made of burning hay?

"you seem a trifle…"
bitter? you bet your sweet ass!
you know doc, it's all a question of Who's Who
you have to be such a prostitute, shining comet-like
at mundane tea parties and drunken cocktails
crying unctuously at the people-with-power-who-decide
"look at me! this is what I can do"
and then making sure you can deliver the goods!
but my voice gets hoarse easily
people rarely listen, even if I scream
so busy preparing their imminent responses...
I just play the piano, ladies and gentlemen
         (though in all of my rare concerts
         pins could be heard falling…
         tell me doc, why do people need
         to twiddle hairpins between their fingers
         while listening to Beethoven's Les Adieux?)

so doc, tell me, can I be cured? is there hope?
can you operate this cancer plaguing my soul? I yearn to discover the calm life of a, well, more normal-like human being, less complex; to finally unearth destiny's true plot for my life, to one day see a glimmer of the hiddden wealth from my talents…
is there any promise? is there a guarantee?
doc? you listening?

"tell me, why then do you play Beethoven?
Haydn better suits your delicate nature
I feel is still kept hidden in the closet"
you mean I forgot to mention I'm gay, doc?
you hadn't figured it out yet?
my mother did, when I was eight
tried to beat it out of me
hoping I'd turn out strong and straight
my spine's grown crooked now
though my pinky finger stays curled with teacups
but what could she say?
"never my fault it grew that way"

but I play Bach and Debussy
Rachmaninoff and Albeniz make me swoon
I adore Chopin and Ravel, delicate sounds so sweet
Prokovieff and Schumann make my heart swell…
"if I may say so, you have too much diversification
scattering yourself too thin!"
am I paying you good money
so that you can repeat an angry mother's din?

balderdash! poppycock!

I preferred it when my therapists confided in me
"you know, I would have been honored to be your father…"
quick exit to avoid future therapeutic transfer --

doc, do you remember
jack and the beanstalk?
he only wanted to help
so he climbed to a place so high
that it couldn't be imagined
searching for riches and fame
escaping to a world so perfect
(until he found the ogre)
that dreams couldn't yet
be broken

broken dreams
to become rich and famous
making my family proud
finally knowing self-confidence
showing it meekly with my ten fingers
and a Steinway grand
in a overcrowded concert hall…
never happened…no luck
no right place at the right time
but that's all I ever asked for, doc



         shrinking success
         15 april, 2006
         revised 18-23 october, 2006