May. 30, 2016

Shoes, Part III

(con't from Part II)
Don't throw away those old organ shoes!
Take a photo first; the Organ Shoes Hall of Fame community wants to see those raunchy, disgusting organ shoes that you wore into the ground.
You may email an electronic image as an attachment to BACHmaster@BACHorgan.com or email them for an address to mail in a photo.
Those old shoes of yours just might make it into the Hall.
The Grand Prize winner of the 1st Annual

(con't from Part II)
Don't throw away those old organ shoes!
Take a photo first; the Organ Shoes Hall of Fame community wants to see those raunchy, disgusting organ shoes that you wore into the ground.
You may email an electronic image as an attachment to BACHmaster@BACHorgan.com or email them for an address to mail in a photo.
Those old shoes of yours just might make it into the Hall.
The Grand Prize winner of the 1st Annual "Ode To Organ Shoes" poetry contest sponsored by BACHorgan.com was David Setchell; his entry was quite good and is reproduced here:

OH RANCID FLAPS OF ANCIENT SUEDE
by David Setchell

Oh rancid flaps of ancient suede,
With grooved soles and heels arrayed,
'Tis time to pen a eulogy
About your organ shoe-logy.

You've heeled and toed your fetid way
Through every piece I've dared to play,
With never a grumble, moan or whine
About a tricky fugal line.

Through hymns galore my feet have ploughed --
The bass part ringing clear and loud:
And with malodorous precision,
You have controlled my Swell division.

With registration too your part
You've played; and what a subtle art
It is, to cause the feet to jive
Between the pistons, one to five.

Attuned to Widor, used to Bach --
Through every age you've made your mark:
Chorale by Franck or one of Handel's --
You are no ordinary sandals.

You've been an aromatic play-link
Between the hands and feet in Sweelinck,
And though your age could well be Tudor
You've never shirked at Buxtehude.

You've danced through Brahms, you've flown through Liszt,
Of Mendelssohn you've got the gist:
And though you're old and worn and smelly --
You've Sortied out Lefebure-Wely.

Complete these praises now I must
To my old shoes, so rank, so just:
You have your eyes, your tongue, your sole, my dears --
It grieves me that you have no ears.

(con't in Part IV)

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