Violin

I had the passion 

but not the stamina

nor the discipline, 

no one knew how

to discipline me so 

they just let me be,

Let me play along,

let me think I was

somebody, I could

be somebody, even

without the no-how.

Never cared one bit 

when my bow didn’t

match the rest of the 

orchestra, I could get 

their notes right but 

always a little beyond,

sawing my bow across

the strings, cuttin it up

even if I wasn’t valuable

even if I lacked respect

for rules of European

thought and composure.

A crescendo of trying

to be somebody,

a decrescendo of trying 

to belong, I played along

o yes, I play along. 

 

Credit

Copyright © 2020 by Nikki Wallschlaeger. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 28, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“I had the desire—but not the technical dedication—to continue playing the violin as a young girl, and this poem is about my failure to become a classical musician. Luckily, poetry is more forgiving than learning the moods of a string instrument, and necessitates individuality—this period of my life taught me I was one of those people who was unable (or unwilling) to play along with the crowd, even when I kept up the appearance of doing so.”

—Nikki Wallschlaeger