Ode to George
“The Man I Love” romances me with song
and makes me feel as if “The World Is Mine.”
The world, though, wasn’t his for very long:
George Gershwin died at not quite thirty-nine.
His melodies clear up “A Foggy Day”;
his “Fascinating Rhythm” jauntily
convinces me that “Love Is Here to Stay”—
or else it helps me whine, “But Not For Me.”
I’m partial to his wordsmith brother, too;
like Ira, I confess “I Love To Rhyme.”
But I’d tell George, “I’ve Got a Crush on You”
that will endure well past the “Summertime.”
What he would rather hear is more acclaim
at venues like the Met and Carnegie;
he did “Nice Work” at both, but made his name
in halls much less renowned for snobbery.
His classical finesse made Broadway fizz;
no song “By Strauss” could have enchanted more.
From “Swanee” on, success and fame were his,
but not long life. He couldn’t write that score.
Death didn’t “Call the Whole Thing Off.” I’ve been
adoring George for decades, happily
pretending I was there when “Love Walked In”—
and no, “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”
How to Knit
Make loops loop into loops and then
do that again, again, again.