I had a reader suggest that I write a backstory to accompany each of my poems—to give some insight into how and why and when I wrote it. So here’s the backstory for “Octaves,” the poem I wrote and am sharing with you tonight.
Last week, my mom sat down at her baby grand piano and played a song for me. As I listened to her play, I thought about how fortunate I was to be the audience for such soul-elevating music. I thought about the way my mom’s hands looked on the piano keys and how that image has been at the forefront of so many of my memories. And I thought about my own history with the piano.
I had some truly wonderful piano teachers when I was growing up. But when I was in fifth grade, I got a new piano teacher—the organist for our church. I was suspicious of that organ-playing man from the beginning. I’d only heard him play the organ, not the piano—how did my parents even know if he could? And he slept through my lessons, only rousing himself to say helpful things like, “Your sister has perfect pitch.” One day, he woke up long enough to tell me that I wasn’t using the pedals right. And I said, “How can you tell that if you’re sleeping?” He slowly opened his eyes and said, “I listen with ears, not eyes. And my ears tell me this lesson is over.”
I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I was genuinely curious. But he called my mom that night, and I overheard her end of the conversation. She told him that she had decided that “It’s time for Renee to go in a different direction.” I was quite familiar with my name being used in the same sentence as “different direction.” And I was happy to be free of that impostor organ player who posed as a piano teacher. Mom had me start taking flute lessons. And I loved playing the flute—as usual, I thrived when I went in a different direction.
All of these thoughts flickered across my brain like a slide show as I listened to Mom play that night. And over this past weekend, as I lay with my head mummified in ice, fighting a blinding migraine, certain words flashed in my brain: Mom. Piano. Different. And so I wrote “Octaves.” Writing, as always, was medicine for me. With each word I put on a Post-It note, there was a tiny, almost imperceptible pause in pain.
Technical note: there are three stanzas in the poem. Stanza is the Italian word for room, so each stanza is like a separate but connected room in a house. My stanzas in this poem have eight lines each, as an octave has eight notes.
Octaves
for Mom
– Renee Adele Phillips
Back in the days of “Sesame Street,”
peanut butter sandwiches, and Kool-Aid,
I watched you play Malaguena,
your fingers using the piano keys as tiny dance floors.
My first piano teacher said I could, too,
as he put my thumb on middle C
and stretched my pinky finger to high C:
“You’ll need to fill that space right there.”
Later, when I played duets with you,
I watched your hands span octaves—
effortless, precise, graceful.
I knew then; I know now. I am not like you–
you build in the intervals and fill all the spaces
the way water rushes in when dams break.
I balance on the shadowy edges of measures,
taking notes on the notes you play.
Our hands are the same size now,
and though I can span C to C on my own piano,
I don’t.
I’m comfortable in the space of my silence,
knowing somewhere, always, there is you:
you, the anchor of intervals,
keeping the dam from breaking
with the sound of your music.
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Comments 10
Amazing blog as always! I love hearing and learning your thought process when writing the poem and some of the intricacies of it. It brought back memories of taking piano lessons, but I was never good enough to get to octaves. 🙂 Love you!
Monty–I’m glad you don’t get tired of hearing about my thought process. Or watching me as I think. Isn’t it cool that we had the same piano teacher for a while back then? You dodged the organ player, though. Love you, too. ❤
You blog today brought back such nice memories of your mom when she directed the music at Heritage. The programs were always so well done! Thanks for helping me to remember! By the way, thought of another topic for you to write about- working in a family business. I find it so interesting that God has orchestrated all your family members’ talents to create such a great business! Family businesses are a dying breed, yet out on the eastern plains your family has quietly put together a thriving business and through it all your still friends!☺️ Thanks for another insightful writing. Hope you have a great day!
Thank you, Patricia. Yes, Mom always did such a wonderful job at Heritage. She still has a children’s choir here, too. Thank you for the topic suggestion! I love the phrasing you used about orchestrating the talents each of us has to create a business. You have started my thought process–thank you! And thank you for such kind words.
A wonderful subject, Octaves. To me, it conjures up memories of my Mom, teach8bg me basic piano, the shake, tespading music, etc, She started me, age 5 of 6. Nompressure, Just fun enjoyable notes. She would also sing along, Once in awhile, Dad would “pipe up”, with his very good voice, he could never read music, only fr9m pure memory. Fun memories, Then in grade school, a succession of learning, play8ng quite well, several instruments:violin, cornet, trombone, drums, finally Guitar. Octaves have not escaped me, in Choir, Men’s Ensemble, there is always, practise singing, different range of notes, Octaves. Thank you for this “Gem”, Soarrow. God Bless keep on Blogging. TexGen
TexGen–I didn’t know that your mom taught you how to play the piano. Those must be beautiful memories for you. My grandpa was a band teacher–he would have loved having a student like you who played so many instruments! Monty played the trombone when we were in junior high and high school. I hadn’t even thought about singing–but you’re right about the octaves there, too. Thank you for sharing your memories and for being so encouraging.
My wonderful Renee, Thank you for every word of this! Using your amazing creativity with words and ideas to write this is just such a gift! I will be reading this many more times this day! Keep writing, keep writing, keep writing!
Mom–you are so welcome. You deserve a million poems–volumes of them. Thank you for telling me again and again to keep writing. I don’t know if you know this or not, but I sometimes need a little push. 😊❤
Renee, you continue to amaze me with your God given talent! You have such a way with words and even more with the poetry that you write! God was for sure directing your fingers as you wrote Octaves. Even with your migraine you can write a beautiful poem! Thank you for blessing your readers, especially ME. I also took piano lessons in 1st grade. I did not like them, so my Mom let me stop. Now I wish my Mom had encouraged me to continue on. I would love to be able to play the piano now. You are such a gifted writer and I am thankful God is using your words to bring others to Him! ❤️
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Thank you so much, Melanie. I really am so grateful that my parents had all of us take piano lessons. Except for that one teacher. 😊 Thank you for sharing your memory of piano lessons. And for your encouragement and words that bless me so much. ❤