Here is another
treasure from Meredith. Please excuse this Wikipedia excerpt. I did do more
research, but this seems to sum it up nicely.
Phonograph cylinders were the earliest commercial medium for reproducing sound. Commonly
known simply as "records" in their era of greatest popularity (c.
1888–1915), these cylinder shaped objects had an audio recording
engraved on the outside surface which could be reproduced when the cylinder was
played on a mechanical phonograph The competing disc-shaped gramophone record
system triumphed in the market place to become the dominant commercial audio
medium in the 1910s, and commercial mass production of phonograph cylinders ended
in 1929.
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The character, Mildred, and the setting, New York City, flew into my
mind when I looked at this amazing case for a cylinder. The next step, I
thought, was to research life in 1900’s New
York City.
I still may write that story someday because the idea of
research, immersing myself in that historical period of time, appeals to me.
But I was stumbling on the story, caught up in the details of what Mildred’s
kitchen looked like and how she, an aging spinster, had enough money to live
on. That didn’t seem to be the story clambering to get out, and I was stuck.
Then today, while listening to various songs deemed “soft rock,” I was taken
with the amazing poetry of some of their lines. Later, I read a one page short
story, “The Frog Prince,” in the New Yorker that is one of the most creative
and unusual pieces I’ve read in a long time.
This fanciful little piece broke all bonds of reality. No frantic
research for authenticity, the author simply crafted a story of his liking—no
restraints of time or possibility. So, while going about my daily routine, my
brain combined the poetry of the music and the freedom of the fantastical short
story and, voila! I realized that, for now, the cylinder story should not be a
typical short story, but rather, a poetical characterization of Mildred. I very
rarely attempt poetry because I’m not good at it and do not know how to
improve. That doesn’t matter now. It’s a done deal. The Magical Musical Cylinder simply has to be more like a poem than
prose. Mildred wants me to give the world a glimpse into her spirit as she
dances to Thomas Edison’s Concert Band rendition of Razzazza Mazzazza (1905). Perhaps later I’ll do the
research, and Mildred will tell her story in well-researched historical
fiction. Dear Reader, Please take a moment to listen to Edison's Razzazza Mazzazza online. All the recordings I listened to are very short (1-3 minutes), but they are all treasures. How do you like the poem that was born of this research?
The Magical Musical Cylinder
Spinning around with
the music,
making circles as
grand as her cramped tenement room will allow
in her five layers of
brazen lace petticoats discreetly hidden
beneath her long,
modest skirt and sensible apron.
Phonograph scratching
out its lone melody,
metallic and
short-lived.
To the ragtime rhythm
of Edison’s Razzazza Mazzazza,
Mildred’s feet fly
as she soars
breathlessly, waiting for her suitor
of forty years
who never comes.
For two airy
pulsating minutes, she dances
and twirls
in innocent revelry.
Her heart opening to
tender possibilities.
The music stills, and Mildred replaces the enchanted tube
in its hallowed,
soft-lined casing
where it safely rests,
waiting for another solitary dance.
