Love Walked In. . . and it never left.

It shouldn’t surprise me too much that I’ve fallen down the Gershwin rabbit hole once again. It was a full nine years ago I became fascinated, devouring every book I could find on the boy genius’s life and art (including Oscar Levant’s fanboy adulation), and of course immersed myself in his astoundingly powerful music.

 

So here he is again, all because of the comment I just received from a woman who is related to Alan Schneider, the man who for decades posed as George’s illegitimate son. Wow. DNA doesn’t lie, does it? And for all the criticism of the internet, all the ranting about the evils of social media, this could not have happened without Blogger, a nearly-obsolete program (or maybe it’s an app, whatever THAT is) and my 12+ of posting on it nearly every day.

Through this magic portal, I once received an email from a woman in New Zealand commenting on something I wrote in 2016. It was about a poem I studied in school in Grade 3 – it was about elephants, and I remembered more than half of it – but at the time, when Google was far less efficient than it is now, I couldn’t find anything at all about it, who wrote it, when, where, nothing.

 

Then after my usual bloodhound effort, I found SOMETHING in a very old newspaper archive from 60 years ago. Yes. They had published the winner of a poetry contest, and the thing was written by two people (can’t remember their names), and there it was – the elephant poem, in a newspaper archive in AUSTRALIA. Yes!

 The archive was one of those snapshots of an actual page, and just under it was a notice for a “cooey contest”, apparently a competition for calling a sheep dog or whatever it was. Very Australian indeed.  This woman from New  Zealand said to me, “YES! I also studied the elephant poem in school, and never knew where it came from.”

 

Getting back to Gershwin. I won’t repeat all the ins and outs of it, except to say I felt – believed – I had some sort of mystical connection to him. I felt his presence, shy at first, then gradually coming closer, a sort of warmth, and a kind of yearning to be heard, believed, understood. After his untimely and gruesome death of an inoperable brain tumour in 1938, people began to “see” him about town, hurrying along a busy street, hanging about at music festivals dedicated to his songs, and even – I swear – playing a piano that was NOT a player piano. Several people saw it, and they knew it was him.

My own connection with Gershwin’s ghost deepened and broadened, and it was exceptionally beautiful and mysterious - until I made the mistake of sharing it with someone I knew, a university prof (I had taken his anthropology course) and self-styled spiritualist medium. What he said was a slap in the face. It was a fantasy, a dream, I was imagining the whole thing to try to gain credence as a spiritualist. (I wasn’t.) Then he pulled rank, as he often did, citing his superior education (two Masters degrees and a PhD) and the fact that I had a psychiatric condition (and he didn’t) that made me prone to fantasy.

 

So George went away for a while. But where he is now, there is no time, which is extremely convenient for me (I’m still in my fleshly form, after all). So is he here again?

Why not? Paul Biscop isn’t. Paul died suddenly about eight years ago, dropped in his tracks with a stroke and was dead before he hit the ground, His partner of 20 years, also called Paul, emailed me with the news, so I must have still been on file somewhere (in case he needed someone to harass). Paul had died suddenly, he said, and we should pray for his soul. But then I saw something on Facebook that shocked me: a page for a spiritualist church that Paul Biscop had actually founded, and from which he stomped away years ago because people weren’t doing it right, were listening to their own hearts rather than slavishly following what he told them to do (and when and where),.

 

Paul was dead, and I wasn’t sorry, but there was more to it than that, and it was awful. The posts from the spiritualist church (and very few had posted their condolences, likely still feeling burned by his narcissistic bullying) sent out an urgent call for financial help for his long-time partner. Paul Biscop had left him with a massive debt that he had known nothing about, and the other Paul was now literally homeless and left with nothing.

So the church set up a GoFundMe page which only garnered a few hundred dollars. The church did not host his memorial  - that was held in a Masonic lodge, and the lady on the Facebook page stated that there would be a table set up in the back selling Paul’s books (no doubt on anthropology and other dry topics) to try to earn some funds for his now-destitute partner.

 

OK, this is very long, but I’m on a roll here The thing is, I of course never abandoned Gershwin’s music (my two favorite pieces are the Cuban Overture and the stunningly beautiful Love Walked In), but his presence had faded as if he too had been stung and had to retreat. But it’s OK now, George, I still love you and feel you and know you are immortal. You ring in those songs, songs that will never die. Like a latter-day Mozart, he would sit at the piano composing, then play the piece that same night in a concert hall. His improvisations were heard only once in human history, because they were different each time. This is what I was originally going to write about, but now – hell, I am exhausted already from visiting the past, something I try not to do these days.

Past-tripping can be counterproductive and even traumatic, and the reason it’s called the past is because it has PASSED. So I will try to get on with my day, such as it is (plunged  back into the rabbit hole), and of course I will revisit the music I never quite walked away from.

Love walked in, and it is apparent to me now that it never left.

Gershwin's ghost, revisited

 

Gershwin is a time traveller - you can see him out of the corner of your eye. He did not die in the normal sense of the word, because he did not know where he was. He was in a very high fever and dying all alone in a hospital room after failed brain surgery. When he left his body, he experienced extreme disorientation and for quite a while did not realize he was dead. This meant that a light, loose Gershwin-shaped energy field still moved about the world, and lit up whenever his music was played (which was almost all the time). 

After a very long time, though it was a mere moment in eternity, he began to realize who and how he actually was, that he was no longer in a body and would have to exist in a very different form. Being a soul sojourner from the beginning, this was not a threat but an adventure to him. But even in spite of this necessary metamorphosis, to a remarkable degree, he retained a George Gershwin shape. No matter what sort of problems he was having in his life, and he had many that we don't know anything about, there was a ferocious static-charged supernatural pumped boost of energy that somehow kept on connecting people with each other when he was around. 

But ironically, in spite of his sacred mission to join people joyously, in his life he had many struggles with intimacy, which led to a loneliness even as he was the most popular man in the room. During this strange leaving-his-body-and-not-being-sure-where-he-was period, he began to have extraordinary insight into not just his own condition, but the human condition.

GG's emotional affect and his emotions seemed curiously light, but there was a galaxy of melancholy within that he did not show to too many people. The stars in that galaxy exploded out of his fingers and his brain and were made manifest as notes of music on the page. Though he lived at a hurtling pace few people could equal, little did he know that he was absorbing all of humanity's travails, gaining an understanding of suffering that would not be fully realized until he found himself in a different form outside his body. It would have been unbearably painful, had his life (as he knew it) not been over, a blessed cessation of all earthly pain. 

When a soul or entity gains this sort of awareness, mysterious alchemy takes place because the need here on earth for that level of understanding is so dire. Those pained and anguished places in that broken thing we call the human condition began to draw and attract this generous, gentle, deeply broken spirit. There was Gershwin dust in the room sifting down like stardust, particularly when there was music playing. And there was music playing all the time.

Someone, not keeping up their guard, felt something strange and warm and not quite real in the room, yet also hauntingly familiar. Someone else thought they saw him for a second, or someone that looked like him. There was in some subconscious way a powerful sense that a healing was beginning to happen. 

George's brain gave way, the most disturbing way to die, so that he was basically humbled by losing the genius brain he was celebrated for. Stripped of that, even of that, all that was left was his essence. How can I say how this happens? How can I be sure that George Gershwin is a time traveller and an entity who is basically free to move about within time and space wherever and whenever he wishes?

POST-SCRIPT. I found this little anecdote in one of the many Gershwin biographies I've read. It didn't surprise me one bit that people still see and hear him!

“George even passed the most acid of tests for great leadership by remaining a presence to his followers even after he’d left the planet. Ann ‘Willow Weep for Me’ Ronell told me some half century after his death that she still ‘saw’ Gershwin regularly in the crowds of the Upper West Side, looking as if he’d just walked out the door. And on that same day, Burton ‘How About You’ Lane testified to an even more precise epiphany. Lane had recently been to a concert of Gershwin’s newly-refurbished piano rolls being played on a baby grand pianola in a pool of spotlight. And as the notes began to go mechanically down and up, ‘There was George for a moment,’ he exclaimed, ‘playing away. I almost passed out.’”

- The House that George Built, Wilfrid Shed

Welcome back. . . George.

Gershwin is a time traveller - you can see him out of the corner of your eye. He did not die in the normal sense of the word, because he did not know where he was. He was in a very high fever and dying all alone in a hospital room after failed brain surgery. When he left his body, he experienced extreme disorientation and for quite a while did not realize he was dead. This meant that a light, loose Gershwin-shaped energy field still moved about the world, and lit up whenever his music was played (which was almost all the time). After a very long time, though it was a mere moment in eternity, he began to realize who and how he actually was, that he was no longer in a body and would have to exist in a very different form. Being a soul sojourner from the beginning, this was not a threat but an adventure to him. But even in spite of this necessary metamorphosis, to a remarkable degree, he retained a George Gershwin shape. No matter what sort of problems he was having in his life, and he had many that we don't know anything about, there was a ferocious static-charged supernatural pumped boost of energy that somehow kept on connecting people with each other when he was around. But ironically, in spite of his sacred mission to join people joyously,in his life he had many struggles with intimacy, which led to a loneliness even as he was the most popular man in the room. During this strange leaving-his-body-and-not-being-sure-where-he-was period, he began to have extraordinary insight into not just his own condition, but the human condition. GG's emotional affect and his emotions seemed curiously light, but there was a galaxy of melancholy within that he did not show to too many people. The stars in that galaxy exploded out of his fingers and his brain and were made manifest as notes of music on the page. Though he lived at a hurtling pace few people could equal, little did he know that he was absorbing all of humanity's travails, gaining an understanding of suffering that would not be fully realized until he found himself in a different form outside his body. It would have been unbearably painful, had his life (as he knew it) not been over, a blessed cessation of all earthly pain. When a soul or entity gains this sort of awareness, mysterious alchemy takes place because the need here on earth for that level of understanding is so dire. Those pained and anguished places in that broken thing we call the human condition began to draw and attract this generous, gentle, deeply broken spirit. There was Gershwin dust in the room sifting down like stardust, particularly when there was music playing. And there was music playing a lot. Someone, not keeping up their guard, felt something strange or warm and not quite familiar in the room, yet also hauntingly familiar. Someone else thought they saw him for a second, or someone that looked like him. There was in some subconscious way a powerful sense that a healing was beginning to happen. As the entity begins to heal, so it heals itself. George's brain gave way, the most disturbing way to die, so that he was basically humbled by losing the genius brain he was celebrated for. Stripped of that, even of that, all that was left was his essence. How can I say how this happens? How can I be sure that George Gershwin is a time traveller and an entity who is basically free to move about within time and space wherever and whenever he wishes?

I miss you, George

I miss you so, George! And even though I know there is nothing I can do to bring you back, even though I know that lightning never strikes twice and I lost you before I even knew I had you, even though forces have conspired to keep us apart that I never could have dreamed of, even though you have been denied and I have been denied by a power of negativity that is now mysteriously obliterated - even in the midst of all this madness and confusion, I miss you, I will love you always, and look forward to that blessed day when you will cross barriers of time and space and walk through walls to be with me again.

Gershwin's Ghost: conversation

May 7/15

I should I guess try to slow this down or stop it or spread it out or something.

Why?

I’m getting greedy.

For what, we don’t know. But I am here on the line

Does it matter how much things have changed since –

Does it seem to?

No, it doesn’t. This is a timeless time. Are you appearing to people still?

I haven’t for a while because I was not sure they would know me.

Oh they would. For some reason I am thinking of Jacob and Esau

What brought THAT to your mind?

Something about birthright – you and Ira – I don’t know.

“The hands are the hands of Esau.” You know how it goes?

I need to be reminded!

Jacob stole Esau’s birthright, or he sold it for a bowl of soup. Great deal, eh? Did you ever pay attention to what my real name is?

Jacob.

Esau being the eldest, so he’d get the caboodle, all of it.

I just found the reference, here it is:

21 Isaac prayed to the Lord on behalf of his wife, because she was childless. The

Lord answered his prayer, and his wife Rebekah became pregnant.

22 The babies jostled each other within her, and she said, “Why is this happening to me?” So she went to inquire of the Lord.
23 The Lord said to her,
“Two nations are in your womb,
and two peoples from within you will be separated;
one people will be stronger than the other,
and the older will serve the younger.”
24 When the time came for her to give birth, there were twin boys in her womb.
25 The first to come out was red, and his whole body was like a hairy garment;so they named him Esau.
26 After this, his brother came out, with his hand grasping Esau’s heel; so he was named Jacob. Isaac was sixty years old when Rebekah gave birth to them.
27 The boys grew up, and Esau became a skillful hunter, a man of the open country, while Jacob was content to stay at home among the tents.
28 Isaac, who had a taste for wild game, loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob.
29 Once when Jacob was cooking some stew, Esau came in from the open country, famished.
30 He said to Jacob, “Quick, let me have some of that red stew! I’m famished!” (That is why he was also called Edom.
31 Jacob replied, “First sell me your birthright.”
32 “Look, I am about to die,” Esau said. “What good is the birthright to me?”
33 But Jacob said, “Swear to me first.” So he swore an oath to him, selling his birthright to Jacob.
34 Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left.
So Esau despised his birthright.

Rings true in a way.

I don’t think he despised his birthright but some things do ring true in it, including your own cleverness and the way your personalities contrast. I just looked up the rest of it and Jacob fools his father twice! His father seems unable to go back on it, so poor Esau. . . in a way, he’s cursed, or certainly not blessed. But who on earth could outfox Jacob?

Nobody. He looks after his own. Yet Esau loves him, maybe too much.

He’s beholden to him?

It should be the other way around, but it isn’t. George ends up being the genius.

You have no trouble saying that, do you.

No. I have no trouble saying that. Ira would have no trouble saying that. He was the favored son, but look what happened, I jumped on the piano stool and was off. And it was Ira’s piano. He was supposed to take lessons. You could say the piano was his birthright, and I stole it. At least I had no trouble taking it.

But it really was.

It really was. Did he feel left behind? Then he wrote these incredible lyrics, and it became evident we really were “twins”, with the words and music intertwining.

That is absolutely fantastic! “The hands are hands of Esau, but the voice is the voice of Jacob.” Pulling a switch, there, and a clever one. It’s almost like you/he stole Esau’s hands!

Esau’s hands were hairy. Jacob’s hands were smooth. Boy they sure got it backwards there.

Yeah I’ve seen pictures.  Wow. I’m just resonating from this

Go away and chew on it for a while.

  Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA

Gershwin's Ghost: the return

 “George even passed the most acid of tests for great leadership by remaining a presence to his followers even after he’d left the planet. Ann ‘Willow Weep for Me’ Ronell told me some half century after his death that she still ‘saw’ Gershwin regularly in the crowds of the Upper West Side, looking as if he’d just walked out the door. And on that same day, Burton ‘How About You’ Lane testified to an even more precise epiphany. Lane had recently been to a concert of Gershwin’s newly-refurbished piano rolls being played on a baby grand pianola in a pool of spotlight. And as the notes began to go mechanically down and up, ‘There was George for a moment,’ he exclaimed, ‘playing away. I almost passed out.’”

- The House that George Built, Wilfrid Shed

  Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA