Nanny's Violin

I've been absent for ages, but I'm happy to be popping back in with a poem inspired by my latest challenge. Buffy hosts today, so pop over for more Poetry Friday offerings.


When my children surprised me by refurbishing my grandmother's violin on the sly, I took up the challenge and signed up for lessons. Not that my writing isn't challenging enough, but that old violin had sat in our closet for most of my childhood, its strings snapped and horsehair hanging off the bow. I never heard my grandmother play the violin, but I have a picture of her in a girls' string orchestra and another of her as a young woman cradling that instrument like it's pretty important to her.

Velma Collemer Brousaides played in one of the Boston orchestras started under the WPA in the 1930s. At least once she played in the Hatch Shell along the Esplanade beside the Charles River.

How could I let her beloved violin remain silent? So here I am, two months into private lessons. My optimistic teacher says I'll be a fiddler by the fall. My calloused finger tips think I'm a fiddler already, but my fingers (which don't cross strings easily) and my bowing arm (which still produces plenty of scratchy notes) think otherwise.

But my persistence (which I learned by writing!) has led me from "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" to some simple fiddle tunes (slowly, still). When I can't manage to tune the violin, my accomplished cellist granddaughter rescues me so I can continue to enjoy this bond with the grandmother I remember.

This poem is in the style of the "Say" poems by the wonderful poet Nikki Grimes in her book Words with Wings. I love using "Say" poems to encourage kids to pile on words!

Say “violin”

and my fingers try not to grip the bow,

my wrist tries not to go begging for G

with my elbow too high or too low,

and when the SCRATCH says begin again

I picture my grandmother on the Esplanade 
playing this violin, and I relax, 
let the bow glide down and up

over the sweet spot, my fingers arched

over the neck playing "Sweet Betsy from Pike"

for Nanny and for me.

                                Joyce Ray