Music | pictured words

February 2, 2023

This music is the picture and the poem

This audio clip is selected from a 1972 Poland Seminary High School band concert in Poland, Ohio, under the direction of my father, James Fagnano. The clarinet student featured is Ralph Lutz.

This was an extraordinary group of dedicated, passionate student musicians. Dad brought out the best in them — and they, in him. Over the years, I began to wonder if my memories of these high school students sounding more like a fantastic college or even professional musicians was simply overblown in my head. I’m thankful for these recordings. This band was every bit as good as I recall.

Per Kevin Cook, who, with Richard Woolford, kindly contacted me to get some of Dad’s music into my sister’s and my hands, these few selections are from “recordings made on Richard Woolford’s tape recorder, which Mark Kostyk made copies of and ultimately digitized. Since Rick was in band, Ralph Hutchinson served as the recording engineer. Kudos to Ralph for his diligent work. I contacted Rick and asked if he would allow me to share these recordings with others and he gave me his blessing.”

Guys, I can’t thank you enough. Warm smile and hugs to you all.

This second selection is titled Bugler’s Holiday (1972). The featured soloists are Loren Popio, Steve Alleman, and Karl Ivansen.

This third selection is titled Tone Poem (1970).

The fourth is titled Variations on a Korean Folk Song (1969).

I would love to share all I was given.

Leave a comment

February 20, 2022

LIFE, COMPOSED IN THREE PARTS

Part 1. LEGATO

Since love and laughter
sang the notes to her childhood,
she tuned in to life.

She felt melodic,
harmonious, and ready
to embrace her song.

Part 2. ARPEGGIO

A child bride’s ballad,
meant to mirror her childhood,
ends in broken chords.

A sharp turn taken,
her imposed solo becomes
a balanced duet

as her new partner
discards the shards, and the two
play in consonance. 

Her children (her heart),
born improvisers, still long
to dance their own dance.

Part 3. CODA 

Moons rose and set. Her
parents grew sickly; her song
became elegy.

Still, her partner hums
his strength, and her Composer 
breathes psalms in her lungs.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

2 Comments

January 31, 2021

NOT FOR LACK OF MUSIC

She hosts a host of
concerts of many genres
in her core, daily,

hourly, or even
moment-by-moment. And in
those moments, she’s moved

but she doesn’t move.
Not really. Oh, perhaps she
sways. Shifts her shoulders

imperceptibly.
She’s intimate with rhythm.
She knows which music

begs an offbeat tap.
She was likely introduced
long before her birth.

Drum cadence stirs her.
Jazz makes her long to sing. Swing.
Waltz softens her eyes,

behind which she glides
across an icy-smooth floor.
She, frozen in place.

Perhaps she will dance
with moonbeams on the wall, while
the house is asleep.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

The idea of dancing with moonbeams on the wall while the house is asleep is from “TOM’S BEACH, Scène Fourteen: A View Inside Out,” by brilliant poet Marilyn Braendeholm. More of her work may be found here: The Journal – Random. Thoughts. Notes. (wordpress.com) .

4 Comments

April 21, 2020

MASK MAKER, MASK MAKER

Photo courtesy of Pixabay’s Pasja1000

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Make me a mask.
Ward off my cough.
That’s all I ask.

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Nothing too posh.
Just make me a modest mask.

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Put folks at ease
as they pass by,
and I must sneeze.
Your mission, see,
is to render for me
a smidgeon of PPE.

Then drop it
off over yonder.
Leave quickly,
and leave nothing else, please,
for me. Well, I wouldn’t holler
if TP’s included (I’m ill at ease).

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Thanks for the mask!
My husband’s at peace,
no longer repeats
day after day, “Sharing isn’t condoned,”
now that I have one
of my own.

3 Comments

April 7, 2020

TRAPPED WITH A JOKER (sing along!)

Stuck inside these four walls.
Feels it’s been forever.
Never seeing no one
sane again. It’s true.
It’s just you. Crazy you.

Will we ever get out of here?
Now it’s looking like months away.
I won’t make it out sound, I fear.
All I need is a break today
From your dad jokes and puns, my dear.
Hush and hand me those Tums, my dear.

Well, my mind exploded with a mighty crash
As he told another pun.
And it’s clear that he’s entertaining himself,
And I hope he’s having fun.

Man with a pun. Man with a pun.
And I’m stuck inside, nowhere to hide.
Oh, save me please, someone
From this man with a pun.
Man with a pun.
Man with a pun.
I am so done.

Just kidding, guys! Actually LOVING being stuck with my funny/punny hubby!

Took this from Band on The Run, and ran with it.

2 Comments

April 1, 2020

I’LL BE HERE (sing along! :) )

Right before we got attacked
TP stood in towering stacks,
And I was there. (I was there.)

Can’t reach out my hand to you.
Watching a “washing hands how to.”
Once I was there. (But now I’m here.)

And oooooh …

Orders say I must stay home.
This coronavirus genome
Needs my cells to help it roam.

I’ll be here, right where I belong.
Can’t tag along,
‘cause I am holin’ up (Holin’ up)
Yes I am. Yes I am.

Two O’clock each day DeWine and Acton
Presenting us with some fun and fact’in.
Ohio, we need them. I’m glad they’re here. (Glad they’re here.)

They are here to protect us, (yeah baby)
With leadership that inspires us.
We are tuned in, and they are here. (Glad they’re here.)

Michael Jackson would be there,
but this cockamamie virus
holds me here, in my armchair.

I’ll be here, right where I belong.
Can’t tag along,
‘cause I am holin’ up (Holin’ up)
Yes I am. Yes I am.

If you should ever find more TP,
I hope that you’ll be nice, and share with me.
‘Cause if you don’t,
I can’t pee. (I won’t pee.)

Don’t say no baby!
Spare a square!
Don’t you care?

Just call my phone, I’ll be here. (I’ll be here.)
Don’t look over your shoulders honey, ooh –
Won’t be there. Can’t go there.
Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.

Don’t you know baby,
I’ll be here. I’ll be here
Just call my phone. I’ll be here. (Staying here.)
Ooh ooh ooh ooh Staying here. Staying here.

2 Comments

March 22, 2020

MY SPIRIT’S SONG (a poem with wrapped refrains)

Image by Colin Behrens, courtesy of Pixabay

I’ve often said it is no toss
‘tween loss of sight or hearing loss.
for music is to me as bread.
It feeds my soul, I’ve often said.

My heart beats to a melody –
a bond abiding breathlessly
as harmonies are coursing through,
in tune with what my heart beats to.

And I believe when angels sing,
our parched earth sips from worship’s spring
to praise a God we can’t conceive.
They catch my ear, and I believe.

It need not be a “worship song”
to lift my eyes and make me long
to sit upon my Father’s knee,
and see my worries need not be.

Should I not hear jazz beat of drum,
or soothing sound from cello’s strum –
Good Father, hearer of my prayer,
please sing to me, should I not hear.

2 Comments

January 14, 2020

ARMED TO THE TEETH

Image courtesy of Pixabay’s ThePixelman

My stomach is tied up in knots.
I wonder who’s calling the shots.
And will they admit
when the bullet gets bit
even they had their own second thoughts?

Leave a comment

December 1, 2019

ELOQUENT TEARS (No Words for My Savior)

Image by skeeze on Pixabay

Infinite grace, unhindered and free
Limitless mercy, darkness eclipsed
Undeserved pardon, lavished on me
Gratitude lies unexpressed on my lips

Silence of tongue, and hands I can’t raise
Words strung together fall short in their worth
Only my tears are fluent in praise
Here in my tears, my worship gives birth

Eloquent tears spill praise to The King
Dampening cheeks He crafted in love
Moistening lips that yearn to sing
Genuine worship to God above

Leave a comment

November 7, 2019

Voice from 1972

941151_10151592586748600_2061636673_n

Had I the chance to sit silently alone in this no-longer new auditorium, might I have heard the echo of your voice? The music you conducted? My younger hands applauding?

It seemed so.

**************

Being back in the PSHS auditorium this week for the first time since the mid-1970’s seemed a bit surreal. Pride welled in me as they honored Dad, and a very large part of me would have given anything to return to that time in my life. Not permanently, but for another round. Or two.

Leave a comment

Tag: Music