“One Ambition”

A few weeks ago a childhood friend invited me to join a book group started by her mother and mine in about 1985. Neither of our mothers nor their original book group “sisters,” all mothers-by-extension to the two of us, survives today, but their spirits remain vibrantly alive in the group. It is a special joy to be included in this collection of thoughtful, feisty, got-your-back women.

The invitation for my first gathering, however, was initially a bit daunting. Instead of reading a book, each of us was to select a poem that was meaningful and bring it to be read aloud. Unless I consider selections from Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin or songs (poems in their own right) or that which I memorized in 5^thgrade (“Daniel Boone, at twenty-one, came with his tomahawk, knife, and gun…”), I am hard-pressed to name a meaningful poem. Too much damage done by teachers of English who, in my opinion, made me analyze poems to death. What to do?

I turned to Garrison Keillor, The Writer’s Almanac, and Googled archives, of course, scrolling backwards from Almanac’slast airing. And there I found it, the perfect poem: “One Ambition”, by Paul Hostovsky, on August 9, 2017. I read it to book group, received an appreciative response, and was inspired to write a bit of a fan letter to the poet. To my happy surprise, he responded quickly, sent me the volume of his poetry that includes “One Ambition,” (entitled Is That What That Is, which I strongly recommend), and gave me permission to include his poem in this blog. Before I do so, let me digress…

When I was about thirteen, I decided to teach myself how to whistle using four fingers (two on each hand). My visionary goal was (still is) to be able to hail a taxi with said whistle when I am eighty and in New York City. One might wonder why a young teenager in a small Southern California town came up with such aspiration. I don’t actually remember that part.

It took long hours of practice, experimentation, and determination to develop the whistle that has served me so well for over fifty years. As a teacher, I could summon my class from recess with one, shrill beckon. My students knew the deal: I would give them the longest amount of play time possible, but there was no mistaking what was my call. Once, on a weekend field trip to the Congressional Cemetery in Washington, DC, I realized that I had not determined a departure point or hour. Inquiring parent chaperones were wondering how we would gather their scattered offspring. Shrugging, I put fingers to mouth, whistled one long summons, and they all ambled back remarkably promptly, much to their parents’ surprise (and my internal delight). Former students have told me they always knew I was in the audience and could hear my “applause,” whether they were on stage or competing in some sports venue. There are simply times when a distinctive whistle is that for which an occasion calls. People are often surprised when it is me who produces one. I get a kick out of that. And I still plan to hail that taxi at eighty, an age that is surprisingly close!

Here is Paul Hostovsky’s marvelous “One Ambition.” It speaks to my heart – and my sense of humor. Equally important, Mr. Hostovsky has inspired me to start reading poetry, for which I am grateful.

All I ever really wanted

Was to whistle with my fingers –

 

I knew I would never

be the one up on stage

 

blowing everybody away

with beauty, brilliance, virtuosity…

 

But to be the lightning

inside the thunderous applause,

 

to have the audacity

and the manual dexterity

 

to make a siren screeching

through a dark auditorium,

 

to be the killer hawk

in all that parroting, pattering rain,

 

to be, finally, the very best at praise –

now that was something

 

I thought that if I gave my life to

I might attain.

 

(FutureCycle Press, 2017)