Busking on the Underground
April 10 2024
People hurry past the street musician
catching snatches of her song;
but too distracted
by busy lives
and too little time
to stop and drop some change
in the battered case
open at her feet.
By the express line
screeching to a halt
and thrumming on the track
where it won’t wait for long.
She plays beautifully
her singing’s angelic.
And if I could only carry a tune
I’d be tempted to sing along.
But instead, I stand in the shadows
immersed in her sound.
Moved
by her powerful voice,
the words
so perfectly matched to the notes
it feels as if the song
has always been there
and couldn’t be anything but;
as inevitable
as the sun around the earth.
While also moved
by her doggedness.
Is she so desperately impoverished
that even this meagre haul
is worth the hard work,
the indifference
hour after hour?
Or could she be an optimist,
waiting for that single act
of great generosity
that will make it all worthwhile?
Or perhaps
she’s simply in love with her art,
the purity
of art for art’s sake.
After a couple of songs
and running unconscionably late
I toss in a 10 dollar bill.
The cost
of half an hour
parking downtown,
a fancy coffee
from some snotty barista
served in a paper cup.
I leave feeling good;
moral support
for a struggling musician,
a patron of the arts
getting more than he’s been given.
Paper money
in exchange for safe harbour
on a secluded island
in a furious sea;
this torrent of people
too harried to notice,
too self-absorbed
to look up from their phones.
Beautiful songs
I’d never sing in public,
and even alone
could never do justice to;
but remain with me
long after I’ve left
that bustling underground.
Where she sings for spare change,
and on a good day
a small round of applause
from the few who stop to hear.
This poem didn’t start with the busker, it started with the idea contained in the 3rd stanza: the feeling of inevitability you get when listening to the combination of words and music in classic songs. By which I don’t mean classic rock; I mean the standards of the so-called Great American Songbook. Music that even though it isn’t widely popular anymore — appreciated, yes; but not much listened to — will endure.
I for one love those songs. But then, I’m an anachronism: born decades too late.
This idea of inevitability came to me when I imagined myself one of those clever lyricists of that golden age (arguably, a kind of poetry) being presented with an instrumental composition anchored in nothing but sound. And then somehow completing the song in a way that makes it impossible to tell which came first, the music or the words: so perfect a match it’s impossible to imagine it coming out any other way.
Here are a few of those standards. Listen, and then see if you agree.
https://youtu.be/cy63JBQGPDg?si=2fhU9JK9lKMwjdvF
https://youtu.be/dyvkG5F91DU?si=jrS8OVOwau5uqRSZ
https://youtu.be/jnb6dXOSt0s?si=x2EXGRUFoDg5idcT
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